Alda mi mornie
by Sternenlicht
Summary: AU! What would have happened if Aragorn had been captured by the Orcs at Tol Brandir instead of the Hobbits? If he had been brought before the seat of Sauron? Bookverse! No MarySue, no romance, no slash! Story is now finished
1. The departure of Boromir

A/N: Imagine, if not Merry and Pippin had been kidnapped by the Orcs at Tol Brandir, but Aragorn instead of them! 

Being a huge Aragorn fan, this story was inspired by this quote in the book (chapter: The White Rider, in The Two Towers): 'Dangerous!' cried Gandalf. 'And so am I, very dangerous: more dangerous than anything you will ever meet, unless you are brought alive before the seat of the Dark Lord.'

This is AU (certainly), but I hopefully managed to keep the characters the way they are in the books. (Yes, I've read the books, several times!!! But I also like the movie very much).

By the way: You might find a mentioning of Aragorn's necklace in my story, but I must tell you that I made up this part of the story way before the movie and the first pictures with Aragorn wearing the necklace were released. And I decided not to change the pendant into the evenstar, it remained the original one! 

As you might notice, this first chapter is just the re-writing of Tolkien's one in the book, but I wanted to post it anyway since the next chapter, my own!, would not make sense without it. Also, it might be easier to get into the story with it. But be comforted: I posted the 2nd chapter as well, for I do not want you to have to read Tolkien's one without anything coming from me. I hope you'll like it, and please, please, leave reviews. 

By the way, no2: This is my 1st English story of LotR (the other was just a rough translation of my German one), so forgive my grammatical mistakes. I tried to make only few, but there still may be some…. 

Constructive critics are very, very welcomed!!!!!!!! Flames will be accepted, but please try and make me not drown in them! Oh, yes, positive reviews are certainly welcomed either!!

Last, but not least: 

Disclaimer: I do not own any character or circumstances, and I do not earn any money with this story. So please do not sue me!

Enjoy!!!

**_Alda mi Mornië_**

_(Tree in the Darkness)_

_The departure of Boromir_

A mile, maybe, from Parth Galen in a little glade not far from the lake Aragorn found Boromir. He was sitting with his back to a great tree, as if he was resting. But Aragorn saw that he was pierced with many black-feathered arrows; his sword was still in his hand, but it was broken near the hilt; his horn cloven in two was at his side. Many Orcs lay slain, piled all about him and his feet.

Aragorn knelt beside him. Boromir opened his eyes and strove to speak. At last slow words came. „I tried to take the Ring from Frodo," he said. „I am sorry. I have paid." His glance strayed to his fallen enemies; twenty at least lay there. „The others have gone." He paused and his eyes closed wearily. After a moment he spoke again.

"Farewell, Aragorn! Go to Minas Tirith and save my people! I have failed."

"No!" said Aragorn, taking his hand and kissing his brow. "You have conquered. Few have gained such a victory. Be at peace! Minas Tirith shall not fall!"

Boromir smiled.

"Which way did the Orcs go? Was Frodo there?" said Aragorn.

But Boromir did not speak again.

"Alas!" said Aragorn. "Thus passes the heir of Denethor, Lord of the Tower of Guard! This is a bitter end. Now the company is all in ruin. It is I that has failed. Vain was Gandalf´s trust in me. What shall I do now? Boromir has laid it on me to go to Minas Tirith, and my heart desires it; but where are the Ring and the Bearer? How shall I find them and save the Quest from disaster?"

A/N: And continue at once to chapter two!!!!!!!!! Please review!!!


	2. A token in the grass

A/N: So, here comes my first story-part! As already mentioned, the story ought to go book-verse, but some things had to be changed! And the necklace was not (I repeat: not) inspired by the movie, I had had this idea before it. Please r/r!! Thanks.

By the way: The song is, of course, from Tolkien, and I took one sentence out of one of Dwimordene's stories. "will have to choose between the Sea and the soil, between Eressëa unstained and my grave unmarked" I just loved it and it fitted so very well in my story. Thank you, Dwimordene! If you do not want me to use it, though, please tell me and I'll take it out.

''means thoughts, "" indicate audible words, this will so in each chapter, so I'll mention it only here.

A token in the grass 

Only some minutes later Legolas and Gimli returned to the small clearing. They came from the western slopes of the hill, silently, creeping through the trees as if they were hunting. Gimli had his axe in hand, and Legolas his long knife: all his arrows were spent. When they came into the glade they halted in amazement; and then they stood a moment with heads bowed in grief, for it seemed to them plain what had happened.

"Alas!" said Legolas, stepping to Boromir's side. "A great warrior has perished and will not return to his city."

Neither the Dwarf nor the Elf saw any sign of Aragorn. He surely would come back soon, they thought. Maybe he would know where the Orcs had gone. 

Suddenly a cry from the way leading down to the river disturbed the silence. "Two of the boats are gone!" Unmistakably it was the voice of a Hobbit. Merry and Pippin came out of the trees and ran towards Legolas and Gimli who were still kneeling next to Boromir.

"The boats are just gone!" Merry repeated. 

"Where are Frodo and Sam?" Pippin added questioningly.

Legolas glanced to Gimli but did not say anything. He also seemed to be surprised of this news. He had thought about Frodo and Sam being with Aragorn but it was completely strange to him why the boats were gone. 

"I do not know," he finally said. "Maybe Frodo finally made his decision and realized that he had to leave for Mordor at once. Something might have happened that his fear was overcome. Sam might have guessed what his master would be going to do and came down to the river, either. It surely would not have been easy to leave Sam behind and so Frodo decided to take him along. If they are really going into the Dark Land right now, they are brave, indeed. Why two boats are missing, I do not know and cannot guess, though." A short pause followed. 

"The only thing I can think of, is, that Aragorn got some urgent news from Minas Tirith and had to leave at once, either. I, however, do not know, why he has gone without even telling us and saying good-bye for it might have been the last time in our lives we have seen him, if he has really left for Minas Tirith. Things are unsure in these times and no one knows how everything will end once."

For some moments no one spoke a word. Legolas himself did not know whether he should believe in what he had said. It did not look like Aragorn just to leave and let his friends behind while they were fighting with Orcs. The tall Man had always worried about them and tried to protect them, since Gandalf's fall in Moria he even had been their leader. Without him it would be difficult to continue their journey. 'Maybe', Legolas thought, 'the Fellowship of the Ring has come to an end now and each member has to go its own way.' Boromir had perished, the Ringbearer and his servant had gone and Aragorn was not with them anymore either. 

Legolas straightened himself again. "We will not leave Boromir lying here among the Unnamed's servants. We must honor him for that he has given his life in protecting his friends."

The Elf did not know what had happened on the peak of Amon Hen, some moments ere Frodo had left the company. No one would ever hear about that. This secret would never appear in tales, Frodo would keep it within his mind until the end of his life, but he would never tell anyone.

"We cannot bury Boromir here," Gimli said. "The ground is too stony. We would need many tall and strong men to dig a grave."

The Dwarf was right. Only a thin layer of grass and brown soil was covering the ground. On many places the gray stone could be seen shining through. 

Finally Legolas spoke again. "We are going to lay him in the remaining boat and send it with the river. He shall float down the Anduin, if fate allows, until he will come to the Sea. So the Men of Minas Tirith will see one of their greatest warriors return from his journey – not as they wished him to, but nevertheless, he shall come home again."

The others nodded. In this way they would be able to show the honor Boromir had earned in taking the perilous journey to Rivendell and supporting the fellowship ever since they had left. On Caradhras they might have been lost without him. Aragorn was tall and strong for sure, but if he had been able to free their way on his own, no one knew.

Gimli then took his axe and cut down several branches. The four lashed them together with some bowstrings they had taken from the slain Orcs and covered the frame with their cloaks. Upon it they finally laid their fallen friend and slowly carried him down to the riverbank. 

It was not very far but nevertheless it was a hard piece of work for the Hobbits. They were not used to weights as great as Boromir´s and felt relieved after they had finally arrived at their remaining boat. 

Then they placed Boromir gently in it. The gray hood and the Elven-cloak from Lothlórien they folded and placed beneath his head. They combed his long dark hair and arrayed it upon his shoulders. The golden belt of Lothlórien gleamed about his waist. His helm they set beside him and across his lap they laid the cloven horn and the hilts and shards of his sword.

"A great warrior is coming home", Gimli quietly said. He was about to send the boat into the river when Legolas put a hand on his shoulder. 

"Something is missing," the Elf murmured. "I will bring some swords of the Orcs slain by his hand as a token of his great courage and sacrifice."

The Dwarf nodded. Legolas turned and made his way back to the clearing they had found Boromir dead. About forty to fifty Orcs were lying there, most of them had swords in their hands but some were also armed with bows. 

The Elf gathered four swords, one for each of the remaining members of the fellowship, and then collected the Orcish arrows for he had none anymore and without arrows the best archer would be useless. However, he tried to be fast, for he wanted to leave for Minas Tirith as soon as possible. They were only four left but in the fight against Sauron every hand that could wield a weapon would be needed. Legolas felt that the fate of Middle Earth would be decided soon. He did not dare thinking about losing this final fight, about Sauron covering the lands with shadow and darkness. This would be the end for all the free people who had dwelt so long under the bright sun.

Just as Legolas was thinking about going back again, he saw something lying in the grass, just next to the tree Boromir had leaned against. It was sparkling in the sun, otherwise the Elf would have missed it completely. Curiously he stepped closer and bent down. 

It was a necklace, a simple leathern necklace with a silver pendant which Legolas had seen reflecting the light of the sun. Somewhere, he thought, he had seen this thing before. But only as he lifted it from the grass, he realized where: It was Aragorn´s, easily to recognize by the silver 'A' in Elvish runes. 

The leather was frayed in one place, it looked like someone had brutally torn it from Aragorn´s neck, not as if he had lost it because of some weak spot within the leather. Legolas knew exactly that Aragorn had nothing more precious to him than this necklace. He would not just throw it away. 

***

Only some nights ago, while traveling down the Anduin, Legolas had not been able to rest and he had decided to keep Aragorn company. The Man had been having that time's watch but instead of sitting just next to his sleeping friends, Legolas had found him at the riverbank. Aragorn had been gazing at the stars and the Elf's first thought was that he had been utterly lonely. Aragorn had looked completely lost and Legolas sat down next to him. 

Aragorn did not even move. Either he had not heard the Elf or he had taken notice of him before. 

"You are missing Gandalf, aren't you?" Legolas asked after some moments of silence. He knew that the two had been sharing a long friendship.

Aragorn did not reply at once. "I am," he eventually answered slowly. 

The Elf at once knew that this could not be the only thing tormenting the Man's mind but he did not question him further. If Aragorn did not tell him, he would not ask. Nevertheless he saw his friend holding a small thing of silver in his hand. It reflected the light of the moon shining brightly this night. He wondered about it since it seemed to have great value for Aragorn. Legolas, however, still said nothing, he was just sitting there, trying to comfort his friend by his presence. 

"I am not only missing Gandalf," Aragorn finally said. "I am missing my love. I have left her and I do not know whether I will see her again. This may be my last journey, I fear. If Sauron will not be defeated, my love will have to choose between the Sea and the soil, between Eressëa unstained and my grave unmarked…" His voice trailed away. 

Legolas now realized that Aragorn's 'love' had to be an Elven girl, no other people in Middle Earth would 'have to choose between the Sea and the soil' as his friend hat put it. 

"The only thing I have to have her with me on my journeys is this small token that she gave me once when I had to leave her again."

It was the silver thing Legolas had noticed before. A small pendant of the Elvish rune 'A', dangling from a simple leathern string.

" 'Shall it remember you of me when you are far away and your heart is longing to see me', she said as she gave it to me."

" 'A' stands for Aragorn and Arwen", the Man suddenly added.

"Arwen?" Legolas asked, "Arwen? The daughter of Elrond?" He still had her picture in his mind. A woman of great beauty but also of great wisdom. He glanced at Aragorn. 'A nice couple', he decided.

A shy smile played around Aragorn's lips. "Yes, that is her. My love, the only one I am still fighting for. There have already been many occasions I had given up if she would not give me the strength to stay alive."

***

It was completely clear to Legolas that Aragorn would not just have left his necklace without missing it. After that night he had not spoken to him anymore about Arwen but he had seen that Aragorn longed for her. In moments when he had thought himself not being watched, he often had touched the place on his cloak where keen eyes could see the outlines of the pendant. 

But suddenly a horrible thought popped up in Legolas´ mind: 'The Orcs! The Orcs must have taken Aragorn!' The Elf tried to dismiss this but he found that he was not able to. He again tried to recall the situation when Gimli and he had come back to be shocked by the sight of the dead Boromir. The Man had leaned against the tree, the Orcs been lying around him. Nothing that indicated the capture of Aragorn but also nothing that he had left for Minas Tirith.

Legolas did not know what to believe. He desperately hoped that his first guess had been right, that Aragorn had taken the second boat since some urgent tidings had arrived that he was needed in the Minas Tirith at once. If Aragorn really had been captured by the Orcs,… the Elf did not want to think about that possibility. He just knew that if that had happened, an uncertain fate would await Aragorn.

After some moments of thinking Legolas decided against telling Gimli and the Hobbits of finding Aragorn's necklace. 'They do not need to worry even more than they are doing right now,' he thought. ´The Hobbits surely have their minds on Frodo and Sam and I will not be able to tell Gimli without them getting to know. And after all, I do not know whether he really had been taken by the Orcs of if he just lost his necklace – the leather might have been weak or worn out…`

Finally after having searched the whole clearing once again for another sign of Aragorn, the Elf turned to go back to the river. He had stayed far longer that he had thought to. 'The others will be worried right now, I guess.'

He was right. Gimli and the Hobbits had even talked about going back again to see whether the Orcs had returned and Legolas had been killed either. Gimli had just begun to walk the few meters from the river to the first trees as Legolas stepped out from the shadows. In his hand he held the four Orcish scimitars he had left for. 

"You've taken your time, my friend," Gimli said. "We've started to worry."

"I am sorry, but there were not many swords lying around suitable for such a great warrior as Boromir was. I had to look around for some time." 

With these words Legolas put the swords beneath Boromir's feet and then pushed the boat into the Anduin, the Great River. The four standing on the bank watched as the funeral boat glided upon the flowing water, the stream taking it, first floating slowly, then picking up speed, until it departed, waning to a dark spot against the golden light of the late afternoon sun. And then it suddenly vanished. Rauros roared on unchanging. The river had taken Boromir son of Denethor, and he was not seen again in Minas Tirith, standing as he used to stand upon the White Tower in the morning. But in Gondor in the after-days it long was said that the Elven-boat rode the falls and the foaming pool, and bore him down through Osgiliath, and past the many mouths of Anduin, out into the Great Sea at night under the stars.

For a while the four companions remained silent, gazing after him. Then Legolas spoke. "They will look for him from the White Tower," he said, "but he will not return from mountain or from sea." Then slowly he began to sing in his clear Elven voice.

Through Rohan over fen and field where the long grass grows 

_The West Wind comes walking, and about the walls it goes._

_'What news from the West, O wandering wind, do you bring me tonight?_

_Have you seen Boromir the Tall by moon or by starlight'`_

_'I saw him ride over seven streams, over waters wide and gray;_

_I saw him walk in empty lands, until he passed away_

_Into the shadows of the North. I saw him then no more._

_The North Wind may have heard the horn of the son of Denethor.'_

_'O Boromir! From the high walls westward I looked afar,_

_But you came not form the empty lands where no men are.'_

_From the mouths of the Sea the South Wind flies, from the sandhills and the stones;_

_The wailing of the gulls it bears, and at the gate it moans._

_'What news from the South, O sighing wind, do you bring me at eve?_

_Where now is Boromir the Fair? He tarries and I grieve.'_

_'Ask not of me where he doth dwell – so many bones there lie_

_On the white shores and the dark shores under the stormy sky;_

_So many have passed down Anduin to find the flowing Sea._

_Ask the North Wind news of them the North Wind sends to me!'_

_From the Gate of Kings the North Wind rides, and past the roaring falls;_

_And clear and cold about the tower its loud horn calls._

_'What news from the North, O mighty wind, do you bring to me today?_

_What news of Boromir the Bold? For he is long away.'_

_'Beneath Amon Hen I heard his cry. There many foes he fought._

_His cloven shield, his broken sword, they to the water brought._

_His head so proud, his face so fair, his limbs they laid to rest;_

_And Rauros, golden Rauros-falls, bore him upon its breast.'_

_'O Boromir! The Tower of Guard shall ever northward gaze_

_To Rauros, golden Rauros-falls, until the end of days.'_

So he ended. For a moment they all stood still, remembering the short time Boromir had been with them.

After some minutes, though, Merry wanted to know what they would be doing now. "Will we try to make for Minas Tirith or will we follow Frodo and Sam?"

It was absolutely obvious that he wanted to do the latter but Legolas did not reply at once. Now, after he seemed to have become their leader on a silent agreement, he had to think twice before doing something. He himself wanted to go to Minas Tirith but he also had to care for the other ones. If Aragorn really had been taken by the Orcs the four of them would not be strong enough to free him, the only help he could expect would be some men from Minas Tirith. On the other side, however, Frodo and Sam might need more support than the experienced ranger Aragorn. 

Gimli looked at him. "We might be of no help to Frodo and Sam. They can only fulfill their quest by being secret and silent. If we follow them, we might be seen by Sauron's servants and that would lead to concentrating his forces on Mordor. Maybe it is better as it is right now – they going on their own. Further on, we would have difficulty to cross the Anduin to make for Mordor, the boats are gone, we cannot swim across the river. It's too perilous that far down from its spring."

The Dwarf was right. Even the Hobbits had to accept his point of view. "So we will try to reach Minas Tirith and join their host?" Merry asked then.

"Yes, that we will do." Legolas answered. Without Gimli's interjection it would have been a difficult debate – he truly even now did not know whether their decision was the right one. 

"Get your things ready, we still will have a long journey before we will have reached the gates of Minas Tirith. Many leagues through unknown lands. But first we have to make west for Fangorn, the Old Forest, where the Entwash can still be crossed without boats. Only then we can head south to the Tower of Guard."

To be continued

A/N: Did you like it? Hopefully! But leave a review, even if not!! Please!


	3. Setting out for Minas Tirith

A/N: So, here it is: Chapter three. 

In the middle of the chapter there is an inner debate going on in Gimli's mind – there are NOT two people speaking, it is merely himself thinking from two different point of views. Just wanted to have it mentioned in case Fanfiction.net doesn't show my quotation marks properly…

So then, I hope you enjoy it. Please read and review! Constructive critics are welcome!!!

Disclaimer: The little poem belongs to Tolkien, as do all the characters. It appears first in the chapter "Strider" and secondly at the "Council of Elrond".  (Just for those who are interested: I also took a piece from the last two sentences of this chapter out of "LotR" – chapter: The Riders of Rohan)

Setting out for Minas Tirith 

As the sun was already sinking the four set out. Legolas had not helped them to gather their things, his mind had been preoccupied with thinking about Aragorn's pendant. He still was fairly convinced that the man had taken the second boat and left for Minas Tirith where he would ride to battle in front of a great host to overtake Sauron and free Middle Earth from the shadows. The Elf knew that Aragorn was Elendil's and Isildur's heir, descended through many fathers in a line unbroken, and that he was the rightful heir of the throne of Gondor. He still remembered exactly the words Bilbo had said at the great council in Rivendell.

_All that is gold does not glitter,_

_Not all those who wander are lost;_

_The old that is strong does not wither,_

_Deep roots are not reached by the frost._

_From the ashes a fire shall be woken,_

_A light from the shadows shall spring;_

_Renewed shall be blade that was broken:_

_The crownless again shall be king._

At these words Aragorn had thrown his broken sword on the table and to everyone it seemed that great royalty had been revealed in him and the ranger clad in weather stained clothes had vanished. No further words of this matter had been spoken later, though. But still Legolas knew that an ancient prophecy of Gondor said that the Broken Sword, once it was found again, would bring doom to Middle Earth and that with it, a king would return to his throne to fight Sauron. 

So Aragorn had been right in that night days ago. Either he would defeat Sauron and receive the Scepter of Annúminas as the token of the kings of the days of old, or Sauron would defeat him and Middle Earth would become a dark land, no sun would then shine upon it beyond the end of the world. 

This day they walked on for seven hours until midnight had passed, only then they decided to rest for a while. The Hobbits had fallen asleep as soon as their heads had touched the ground, but Legolas had not forgotten his fear for Aragorn. He sat down next to Gimli who had been chosen to have the first watch. The Dwarf slowly smoked his pipe, neither said anything. The night was dark, clouds were hiding the moon, but still Legolas could see the mountain range rising into the sky at the western border of Mordor when he was looking eastward.

"Something bothers you, my friend." Gimli finally said.

The Elf did not answer at once. He just stared at the ground, the long blond hair covering part of his face. He did not know how to express the feelings he had. In the last hours, while they had been walking, his certainty about Aragorn's fate had dwindled and now he almost was sure that the tall Man had been captured by the Orcs.

"You don't think that Aragorn has truly left for Minas Tirith, do you?" Gimli then asked after Legolas had not replied.

The Elf lifted his head, a hint of surprise was written over his face.

"You know me too well that I could hide something from you," Legolas sighed. "Yes, I am worried about his fate. I do not believe that he has just taken a boat and went down the river without even telling us. It does not look like him to leave his friends in peril."

"You sure are right about that," Gimli nodded. "But I think there is another thing that caused you to worry as much as you do now. Not only that he has left without leaving a message. Something different."

Legolas hesitated for a moment. "You are right once again," he slowly replied. "When I had left you at the river bank to get some Orc scimitars for Boromir's honor, I happened to find something lying in the grass. It was sparkling in the light of the sun, otherwise I would have missed it completely." The Elf paused for a moment.

"It was Aragorn's necklace, the leather torn and frayed."

A moment of silence. "Could he not just have lost it?"

"I do not think so. I know that it was the thing most precious to Aragorn. In a night, merely some days ago, I could not rest and I talked to him while he was on watch. He revealed to me that this necklace was a present from Arwen, daughter of Elrond half-Elven, his love, and that it was the only thing of her that he had with him to be reminded of her in every moment of his journeys."

Gimli was silent for some minutes. "I, though, think that he has just lost it," he said then. "Leather can wear out, can tear any time. That it was frayed doesn't make me think differently either. I still guess that Aragorn got urgent tidings from Minas Tirith and had to go. After all, if things had happened as you think, Aragorn must have been captured by Orcs and I cannot believe in that. He is a tall and courageous man, wields his sword better than anyone I know. We would have found more Orcs lying there slain, but all of those seemed to have been killed by Boromir. Alas, that he is dead!"

Although feeling better now, Legolas was not utterly convinced yet. He respected Gimli's opinion and hoped that it was true and not his still fairly undetermined feeling of great peril for Aragorn. 

For some time they both were sitting in silence, then Gimli started to yawn. 

"Go to sleep, my friend," Legolas said. "My mind cannot rest now and you need it. I will take over your watch."

The Elf kept watching until the early light of dawn next morning, then he woke the others. After a short breakfast they set out again. The way to Fangorn still would be a long one and they wanted to cover the leagues as fast as they could to arrive in Minas Tirith soon enough to take part in the great battle against the Dark Lord. 

Legolas took lead, of the rest of the company he knew the way through Rohan, which they had entered immediately after leaving Anduin the day before, best. The whole day they walked on, above them the late autumn sun, rising, wandering across the sky, finally setting in the west, far ahead of them. They only interrupted their journey with short breaks to eat and to rest for a while, they even walked on as darkness finally covered the land completely. Almost for eighteen hours they had been on their feet and the Hobbits were likely to fall down wherever they stood at the moment.  

During the day Merry and Pippin had merely been thinking about Frodo and Sam. With them they had set out from the Shire and they did not understand why the two had not taken them with them. After all, they had always been close friends and now they were just left behind. Of course, they had come to like Legolas and Gimli, but in a way, they felt lost. 'Just a Dwarf and an Elf around us, no Hobbit, no one that understands us properly,' Pippin had thought. To Legolas and Gimli it seemed that the Hobbits still did not have realized how perilous Frodo's quest was, since Merry had asked them whether they would see Frodo and Sam again in a few days or if it would take more than a week. 

Just before they laid down to sleep, Pippin drowsily asked: "How long will it take Aragorn to get to Minas Tirith?"

Legolas merely shook his head. He had forgotten that he had not even told the Hobbits about finding the necklace in the grass. They still had to think that the Ranger just took the boat and had left. "I do not know," he then answered softly. "I have not traveled southward on the Anduin before." 

The third day of their journey passed as the one before. Somehow they all were driven by an inner voice to go as fast as they could. 'Go on, go on', it seemed to say. 'Your fate awaits you.' Even the Hobbits who were not used to cover that much way in such short time did not complain. They marched on in silence, for talking would need to much of their strength. Also, neither knew what to say: The land was bare, only brown grass could be seen as far as their eyes reached. No hills, just monotonous even plains without trees, no hint of green around them.

Merry and Pippin used to walk in front, their faces tired and worn out. Gimli, who followed, showed a stout expression, as a Dwarf he thought it to be his duty not to complain about any work, be it lifting stones or walking on for hours and hours. He sighed, though, since he saw Legolas keeping some feet of distance between him and his friends. Not that they had argued or that he had reason to be angry about them, but the Dwarf feared that Legolas' mind was preoccupied with thinking about Aragorn's fate. "He should not do that," Gimli muttered, "his worry is useless. He should concentrate on our journey, we're traveling through unknown lands, he is the only one who really knows where to go. Aragorn will safely be in Minas Tirith right now and in this very moment he might even be mounting his horse to lead his men into battle against Sauron." 

'And what, if Legolas had been right?'

'No, Aragorn had not been captured by the Orcs. He has just lost his necklace.'

'It might have been torn from his neck.'

'Never. Aragorn would have slain the Orcs and no one would have had the chance to put hands on him.'

'And what, if they had been far too many for him to kill?'

Although Gimli found no answer to this question of his inner voice, the debate within his mind went on, he tried to convince himself that Aragorn was well and that no peril lay ahead of him. He completely suppressed the thought that Legolas could be right.

The Elf himself had not even noticed the occasional glances from Gimli, he just wanted to be alone, no one should disturb him. Since he had met Aragorn in Rivendell, they had become quite close, maybe the Man's almost Elvish attitude to life was one of the reasons why he could talk to Aragorn far better than to any other of the company. Of course, his comrades – especially Gimli – had become friends either, but with Aragorn he had developed a special bond that was not as easy visible and understandable as his friendship with the Dwarf. It somehow was more complicated and less apparent. Often, they had sat together in the nights, during one of their watches, and had talked to each other. Legolas knew that if it had been otherwise, he had never gotten to know about Arwen. Aragorn had not told many – the Elf guessed, that save Elrond, his two sons, Aragorn's mother Gilraen and Gandalf no one had reason to suspect anything of their love. Even after being in Rivendell with them, he also would not have noticed, if Aragorn had not told him. 'A lot of trust has he placed in me in that night when he revealed his heart,' Legolas thought, 'I cannot leave him now when he might need me more than he ever had before.' 

During the hours they were marching on, his fears about Aragorn increased again.

'After all,' Legolas said to himself, 'Sauron would achieve great victory in having captured Aragorn. The prophesied king would be in his hands, and if he would also get the ring…' The Elf knew that doom would come to Middle Earth then and the Dark Lord would be able to enslave all free people. The lands would be covered by eternal darkness, the forecast king who had given hope to Elves, Men and Dwarfes, would not come. 

'Alas,' the Elf thought, 'if Aragorn has fallen into the hands of Sauron, Middle Earth will be lost. Without a king leading our people against his hosts, they will take over the land and everything that made Middle Earth a fair place will disappear. 

Still, though, the Ring is not in his hands, and without it he cannot use the ultimate power yet, but even if Frodo will not fail, victory is far away without a king unifying the so long separated people. The prophecy says that Middle Earth can only be saved by a king who wields the Sword that was Broken and if he does not find a way, no one will.'

Legolas realized for the first time with all its clearness how great Aragorn's burden had to be. A burden he did not want to bear himself, if he was completely honest. To know that if he made a single mistake, everything would be lost… 'I could not do that,' Legolas thought. 'Aragorn must be even stronger than he seems to be. He must have a great spirit, a will that is not easy to be suppress.'

His mind being preoccupied with these thoughts, the Elf was the last of the company to notice the line of dark shadows suddenly rising into the sky at the western horizon. A short time after noon on the fourth day of their journey they finally had come close to the eastern eaves of Fangorn, the Old Forest, of which even Lord Celeborn had warned them to enter. High trees, their trunks covered with moss, stretched their branches to the sky. Suddenly a strange smell was in the air, it almost felt alive but at the same time older than the ancient tales of Men. It seemed to be a strange land, indeed, and the hearts of the four comrades told them to refuse entering the forest. The friends stood there, waiting, no one wanted to be the first to go. 

They felt great fear, they were almost as terrified as they had been in Moria when Gandalf had fallen.

"Aragorn would not have hesitated," Merry suddenly whispered quietly.

Legolas looked at him and frowned for a moment. The Hobbit was right. The Man would just have entered the forest as he had treaded every unknown path before – with courage and without being afraid. 

"You are right, Merry, we do not have reason to fear. After all, everything that is told about Fangorn comes from the old tales of Men and no one knows whether it once was true." He paused for a short moment. "We should follow Lord Celeborn's advice, though, and not cut any living trees for fire. The nights are cold, I know, but if we really need warmth, we can take the branches lying on the ground. Lord Celeborn would not have warned us if there had not been even a single trace of truth in the old tales. No one has entered Fangorn for a long time and if one indeed had, he brought no tidings with him, so we do not know what creatures are living in there. Once, I recall, I heard a song of my people, in which it was said, that the Onodrim, which Men call Ents, dwelt there long ago. For Fangorn is old, old even as the Elves would reckon it. Together with the forest at the Barrow-downs it is the last stronghold of the mighty woods of the Elder Days, in which the Firstborn roamed and Men still slept."

To be continued!

Still there? I hope you liked it! Please leave a review, an author needs them to live!!


	4. From the shadows returned to life

A/N: Chapter 4, wow, I didn´t think that it would be finished so shortly after posting chap. 3…. But all your reviews seem to accelerate my writing speed…. thanks a lot!!!!!! Please continue!

By the way: I decided NOT to write from Aragorn's POV (at least not yet), for I don't know yet, how fate will treat him!! Maybe you'll have some suggestions…. but I cannot promise that I can pay heed to them! 

Disclaimer: All characters belong to J.R.R. Tolkien, the great master!!! Oh, yes, I took some sentences out of the book again - from the part when Legolas and Gimli and the Hobbits meet Gandalf…. Chapter (I guess): The White Rider

_From the shadows returned to life_

Legolas lifted his gear that he had laid on the ground and entered the wood. Within a single heartbeat the sounds from the outside reaching his ears grew faint and more silent as if shielded by something. Also the light became dim, no trace of something alive could be seen or heard. 'Strange, indeed,' Legolas thought, 'it seems that nothing lives around me for miles, even when I know that Gimli and the Hobbits are only some steps away.'

Thinking about them, they seemed to have overcome their fear either, and came towards the Elf. 

"A queer feeling I have," Merry uttered, "it is so quiet, so silent as if nothing has ever taken a breath here."

Gimli said nothing, he only tightened the grip on his axe he had taken out of his belt as they had reached the eaves of Fangorn some time before. A slight shiver ran down his spine.

Legolas looked around himself. "We still have to heed west for some time, then we will reach Entwash as it flows down from the northeastern end of Fangorn. There, hopefully, we can cross the River easily and then turn southward towards Edoras, then heed eastward again towards Minas Tirith, along the mountain slope stretching along the Eastfold and Anórien."

The Elf glanced at the Hobbits. "But I might add, that today we will not journey on for long. It will get dark in here soon, the trees are blocking the sun. In the darkness, I do not want to walk in Fangorn for one can lose its way easily and if we go astray, we would never find out of the Old Forest again. It stretches along many leagues. Today we will rest throughout the whole night."

The other's mood cleared a bit. Thinking about wandering through Fangorn at night had frightened them but neither of them would have objected against Legolas for he was their leader and he had often said to them that they had to go in haste since they must not arrive too late in Minas Tirith. Things would go ill then, the Elf had promised.

For only about three hours the four comrades continued to walk through the Forest. There was, of course, no direct path to Entwash, but often they saw their way blocked by deep folds in the ground and sometimes they even had to walk through a little stream flowing across their trail. This part of their journey was almost more exhausting than the continuous march through the plains of Rohan.

The sun was setting early, not the only sign that winter was approaching fast. Under the trees, which still, though, bore their leaves, it got cold rapidly. When the last hint of light had disappeared in the west, Legolas called for today's rest.

"We will not go on further for this day. For long have we journeyed on and now we shall rest to gather strength for tomorrow when we will have to cross Entwash and take on the long road to Minas Tirith. Sleep well tonight, my dear friends, for nothing shall disturb you. I will keep watch for you. Do not worry about Fangorn, as long as we will do no evil, it will not harm us."

Gimli smiled. Merely the thought of not having to get up this night was refreshing. The Hobbits and he got out their blankets and placed them around the dry branches Legolas had collected in the meanwhile. To get a fire started was no difficulty for the Woodelf and soon the flames were flickering in the wind. 

Merry and Pippin had fallen asleep at once, Gimli, though, was just lying there and stared up into the sky. 

"If someone had told me five or six moons ago that I would journey through the countries with four Hobbits and an Elf, I would have laughed at him," the Dwarf suddenly stated.

"Middle Earth is far greater than I have ever imagined. Only now I know that things out there happen which my people have no idea of, and that things which are of great concern for my people are not as important as they think."

Legolas did not reply at first. "If someone had told me five or six moons ago," he then said, "that I would journey through the countries with four Hobbits and a Dwarf, I would have laughed at him either. Strange things have happened in the meantime, things that could not be foreseen, my dear friend. In these times my only hope is, that all people will be able to discover the things we had the chance to…" The Elf suddenly lifted his head, staring into the shapeless dark below the trees.

"Who are you and what do you want?" he then called into the night. Gimli at once righted himself up. As he was staring in the same direction as the Elf, he could spot a dark shadow among the trees. It looked in some way like a Man, yet something familiar was around him. The Hobbits, however, had not woken yet. During their journey they always had slept like logs, it was not easy to rouse them.

"Who are you and what do you want?" Legolas called again. "It is of no use to hide under the trees, we have spotted you and it is our right to ask about your name and purpose. If you do not want to do any harm, you can come to the fire and spend the night in our company. We have no evil things in mind."

The shadow took one step towards the group. Now they could see that it was indeed an old man, wearing ragged clothes, leaning on a rough staff. His head was bowed and he did not look towards them. In other lands they would have greeted him with kind words, but now they stood silent, each feeling a strange expectancy: someone was approaching who held a hidden power – or menace.

"I do not want to harm you," a tired voice then said, "I am an old wanderer, seeking only for warmth and company."

"If that is so, come to the fire," Gimli said, "at least in this night you won't have to be cold." Legolas was watching the old man closely, something in his behavior and way of movement felt familiar in a certain way. The Elf, though, could not put his finger on it, but still he felt suspicious. In Fangorn, where no one had journeyed since long, it was strange that someone suddenly appeared out of thin air and only asked for fire and company without any real purpose why wandering through the Old Forest. 

Legolas slowly got an arrow out of his quiver and bent his bow. Isengard was not far from Fangorn and he still remembered well Gandalf´s tale of the treason of Saruman at the Council of Elrond. Saruman had turned to evil, why should he not try to get hold of the rest of the Fellowship of the Ring? He could not know that the ringbearer was no longer among them. And, after all, it had been said, that Saruman often wandered through the lands appearing to others like an old man with a long gray beard. The hooded figure at the fire had such. The Elf fitted his arrow to the string and lifted his bow.

"Do not commit such mistake," the old man suddenly said without turning around. Legolas was caught off guard completely and the arrow went up high up into the air, where it vanished in a flash of flame.

"Mithrandir, Mithrandir," he cried. "I never thought to see you again!"

"Well met, indeed, Legolas, my friend," the old man replied. He had turned around and threw back his hood and cloak. His hair was white as snow and gleaming white was his robe. His eyes under his deep brows were bright, piercing as the rays of the sun. Power seemed to be in his hands.

"Gandalf," Gimli said, "Gandalf." Other words he could not find, he was stunned of joy and surprise.

"Gandalf," the old man slowly repeated as if recalling a long lost memory. "Gandalf, yes, that was my name. I was Gandalf." He wrapped his cloak around himself again and was silent for some heartbeats. "Yes, you may still call me Gandalf," he said then and his voice was the one of their old friend and guide.

"Beyond hope you have returned from the shadow," Legolas softly said. "With you, hope comes back to the remnants of the Fellowship. Many things happened since you fell in Moria and not all things went well."

Gandalf looked at the Elf and the Dwarf, then let his glance fall on the still soundly sleeping Hobbits. "Would you tell me your tidings, then, my friends? I see, that Aragorn is not with you and neither are Frodo and Sam. Boromir is also missing. Nine were sent out, only five are still together. What has happened to your comrades? Is that the evil news you have to tell?"

Gimli gestured to the fire. "Don't we want to sit down before we'll start our tale? It has gotten cold since we have left Lothlórien. Winter is approaching fast." 

The others nodded and they placed themselves by the fire, careful not to disturb the Hobbits. 

"I may start from very beginning, if you do not wish otherwise," Legolas suggested then. Gandalf only nodded. He had a strange feeling that indeed evil things had happened and that Aragorn was concerned by at least one of those. The wizard could not think of any reason why the Ranger should have left the company, his friend had promised to watch over his comrades if something ever kept Gandalf from continuing their journey together. It, though, was a completely different matter with Frodo and Sam. They were only Hobbits, but in a way Gandalf knew that they had left the company on purpose and that there was no immediate peril waiting for them. In this, though, his guess should prove wrong, as the wizard would realize during Legolas' tale.

"Into the shadow you had fallen…," Legolas slowly said, "we had great fear in our minds. We did not know how to continue our journey, even Aragorn did not seem to be sure about where to go. He, though, became our leader as you had wished it and we trusted him to lead us through the unknown lands. To Lothlórien we came and there we spent a whole moon in the care of the High Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn. Great peace we found there and our hearts could rest for a while. Nothing better could have happened for we were weary in body and mind. But finally we had to set out again, nevertheless our hearts did not want to leave for there is no peril in Lothlórien and to me it seemed that the Elder Days had awakened again. I had never felt like there before. In the land itself there is the spirit of the Firstborn and I am sure that it will never forget that once Elves had dwelt there, even if ages will have passed and all of my kindred will have gone to the Gray Havens and no one will remain in Middle-earth anymore. Alas, I fear, that this time will come soon, when the Fair People will only be a memory upon the land and no one will listen to the song of the earth, the trees and all other living beings. In Lothlórien my heart found peace and if I will ever get back from this journey, I will go there to dwell with my kindred until we will decide to leave Middle Earth and continue to live on in Valinor." 

The Elf paused for a moment as if trying to recall something.

"I cannot describe it with words, although there is no other speech more expressive than the Sindarin, but even this tongue has not been made to be able to retell the greatness of Lothlórien, the Land of the High Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn."

"I know," Gandalf softly said, "all the times I have been there, Lothlórien has enchanted my heart and made my burden seem light. The spirit of the High Kindred lies upon that land and it forever will be holy and sacred, for nothing that is evil can do harm there, since its greatness touches the innermost part of your soul and that is honest and noble in every man."

The three sat silent for a minute ere Legolas started to speak again.

"When we had to leave Lothlórien after the moon that to us seemed only to have been four or five days, Lady Galadriel gave us three Elven-boats among other gifts, that we did not have to decide at once whether we would continue our journey on the right or left side of Anduin. I was pleased about that, but even more was Aragorn: For the whole time in Lothlórien he had pondered about which way to go. A great burden seemed to have been taken of his shoulders and his heart became lighter. Mine, though, cried as we passed the last Mellyrn trees. Only some days later I learned that Aragorn's heart might have been even sadder than mine. You, Gandalf, may know what I am speaking of."

"So do I," the wizard said, "but it is not only Arwen that he misses, it also is all the Elves, their way to live, their way to treat each other and everything that is around them. You two surely know that Aragorn spent his entire childhood in the house of Elrond where he, save his mother, was the only Man among the Elves. He was raised by them, he was taught everything by them. In a way you could say that he is an Elf, though the blood coursing through his veins tells differently. Especially in the first years he was wandering through the lands, he had difficulty to adjust to the way of the mortals, for he did not know their way of living. Even now, after he has spent many years away from Rivendell, he feels best in company of Elves. Legolas may have noticed that. Aragorn is kind to all people and he does not want to make a difference but he still finds it more easily to talk to Elves than to Men or Dwarves or Hobbits." 

"I indeed noticed that," Legolas answered. "In the long nights of our journey we often sat together and talked about many things. But very lately only he spoke of Arwen, before I did not know about their love, one of his greatest secrets this was."

"That is true," Gandalf nodded, "he has not told many. Even now it is not sure whether they once will marry or if Arwen will have to leave Middle Earth together with her father and all of her kindred. If that will happen, though, Aragorn's heart will be torn apart. He loves her deeply, I know, and he can hardly stand being separated from her. If our Quest had not been so important, he would not have left Rivendell, I guess." 

"His heart was sad while we were traveling down Anduin," Legolas said, "but I could not help him to overcome it. For the first time I understood how great his burden was: Aragorn had to care for us, had to make the right decisions to save us from peril but at the same time he hurt inside and no one was there to wrap his arms around him to let him forget his fears for a while. I saw what the time in Lothlórien had meant for him."

While Legolas and Gandalf had been talking, Gimli had stood up from the fire. Using the short pause between the Elf's last words and Gandalf's next, the Dwarf said: "Would you two excuse me for a while? I will look around for some time." With this question Gimli disappeared under the shadows of the trees without waiting for an answer.

Legolas stared on the spot the Dwarf had vanished. He knew why his friend had left. During the whole day he had seen that Gimli had debated with himself if he should believe that Aragorn had been captured by the Orcs or that he had taken his way towards Minas Tirith and now he did not seem to be able to stand listening to the talk about his tall friend.

Gandalf, though, was not surprised about Gimli's disappearing. To him it was plain that the Dwarf had gotten bored, since only the wizard and Legolas truly knew something about Aragorn and his life. On their journey he surely had not spoken a lot to Gimli.

For some moments neither said anything. The fire was flickering in the wind and the forest almost seemed alive with the shadows of the trees moving with the flames.

"We journeyed down Anduin then," Legolas continued to speak, "and those days were good days for there was less peril around us than before the time in Lothlórien. We passed through Argonath and saw the great Pillars of the Kings guarding the way towards Minas Tirith. Isildur and Anárion are still standing there as they have done in all the time and still, although they have suffered since Gondor has been left without a king, they are mighty, and awe and fear befell us, for we saw how powerful the Kings of Old once had been. When I beheld them and looked into Aragorn's face then, I saw that indeed he was their heir and I wished nothing more than him becoming King of Gondor and Arnor again, bearing the Winged Crown of Númenor. For peace only can settle on Middle-earth with a leader of great wisdom and majesty.

This same day we decided to rest at Parth Galen under the shadow of Tol Brandir, not far away from the falls of Rauros. Frodo knew that the time of his decision of where to go had finally come but he had not made up his mind yet. Thus he asked us to leave him alone for a while and he went up the hill of Amon Hen. Even Aragorn was unsure about the way Frodo would choose and we all were anxious to hear about his decision. However, ere Frodo came down from Amon Hen again, we heard the battle cry of Orcs and suddenly we were surrounded completely by them. Each of us fought hard and many Orcs were slain but still they had been able to separate us from each other and so indeed it was almost a miracle that Gimli and I, Merry and Pippin could free ourselves from the Orcs and return to the small clearing in the forest where we first had held council. There, though, ill tidings awaited us for far more Orcs had stayed there instead of fighting against us who had been driven away."

Legolas paused for a short moment, then, in a soft whisper, he continued. "There we found Boromir, leaning against a tree as if he was resting, but as we slowly drew nearer, we saw that his life had fled. The great warrior of the Tower of Guard has perished and will not come home to his people."

"Alas," Gandalf cried, "that indeed is evil tidings. Trust and hope has been placed in Boromir by Elrond and me for we saw great help in him in our battle against the Dark Lord. But fate would have it different, I fear, and now hope again is dwindled." The wizard drew a deep breath. "Continue with your tale, my Elvish friend, you have not yet spoken of Frodo and Sam and neither of Aragorn. Are the tidings about them as ill as they are about Boromir? Alas, I fear it."

"My friend, your heart shall get lighter again, for we found sign that Frodo and Sam took one of our boats and left for Mordor to fulfill their quest. I admire their courage, it might not have been an easy decision. In the middle of our fight they must have left, they did not come to our aid nor were they wounded. Three days ago that happened, by now they should have passed the Dead Marshes and we only can hope that peril will spare them on their way to Mount Doom where the fate of Middle Earth will be decided."

A smile had crossed Gandalf's old face as Legolas had told them about Frodo's and Sam's leave but by now it darkened again. "Yes, we only can hope. We have done what we could have done and doom does not lie in our hands anymore. Is it not strange that two Hobbits shall determine the fate of all people in Middle Earth?" he added quietly.

Legolas, though, had not heard Gandalf's last words. His voice had become merely a whisper, a hint of sadness underneath, and the wizard had to lean in closely to understand the Elf. Legolas suddenly could not meet his eyes anymore and fear crept its way back into Gandalf's heart. 

"With Aragorn," Legolas said slowly, "it is a completely different matter. You may have wondered why he is not here with us and why I have told of nothing concerning him after our council under the shadow of Tol Brandir." 

Gandalf nodded but he did not say anything. The following words he would never forget again, they burned into his mind and later he often remembered this very moment in the nights he could not sleep and it became a vivid image in his dreams.

"I think," Legolas slowly said, "that Aragorn was captured by the Orcs."

A/N: Still like it? Please review! And don't forget to write constructive critics! I truly want to improve things, but I can only do that by having them mentioned by you!


	5. Hope is leaving and shadow returns

A/N: Quite a short one, I know… sorry. 

To all my readers: I have a question since English is not my first tongue, and I desperately need to know who Aragorn´s kind of trousers would be called. Please, please answer!!! 

And by the way, do not forget to review!!

Disclaimer: All characters do not belong to me and I'm making no money from this story.

THANKS TO ALL WHO HAVE REVIEWED SO FAR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

_Hope is leaving and shadow returns_

All color drained from Gandalf's face and it became white as snow. A shiver ran down his spine, his hands began to tremble. "You do not say the truth, Legolas, do you? No, this cannot have happened! Aragorn was not captured!"

Legolas was silent for a few heartbeats. "I do not know," he said softly, "but I could not think of any other way for finding this." With these words the Elf got the leathern necklace out of his gear and lifted it into the light of the fire. 

Gandalf immediately reached out for it and Legolas slowly put it into the wizard's hand. He looked small now, as if he had shrunk in the past few minutes, weary and older than he had been before. The silver 'A' sparkled when the light of the flames fell upon it, it looked like a star in a cloudy night. Appearing and disappearing, appearing and disappearing. 

Legolas' heart hurt as he was watching his old friend. The wizard clutched the necklace with all of his strength, as if holding onto it. The Elf even thought that he had spotted a tear on the other's cheek but he was not sure about it. 

"Where did you find it, Legolas? What makes you think that Aragorn lost it in battle?" Gandalf slowly asked after some minutes. In the first moment after he had beheld the necklace in Legolas' hand, he had believed that his heart would stop beating. 'It indeed looks like it was torn,' had been the first thought in his mind. 'Aragorn, Aragorn, what has happened to you, my friend?' The old wizard knew that the ranger surely had not just lost his necklace, to him it had more value than all the gold and _mithril_ in Middle-earth, but nevertheless he just had to ask how Legolas had come to his conclusion. Maybe he himself as a man who had been sharing a long and deep friendship with Aragorn would be able to read some signs better. Maybe the man had left something behind that would indicate a completely different reason for leaving his necklace.

"In the grass beside Boromir's body I found it," Legolas replied to the wizard's question. "It was lying there like you can see it right now. The leather was torn and frayed, and I could not see any other things that made be think different. At first, although there had been doubts, I wanted to believe that Aragorn had just left for Minas Tirith since urgent news had arrived and that he had had to go at that very moment, but during our walk through Rohan my opinion was changed for I had enough time to think about the events."

Gandalf did not answer. He was just sitting there, clutching his friend's necklace in his fists, his head cast down, the shadows of his hood hiding his face. Legolas also sat in silence for there was nothing that he could say to ease the wizard's pain. The Elf knew about the friendship the two had shared, but he could only guess how great Gandalf's suffer had to be. Even he himself missed Aragorn a great deal and was deeply worried about his fate, although he had known the Man only since they had met in Rivendell ere setting out for their journey. Prior to that, he had only heard of the Ranger from his people when they had told him that he had come to Mirkwood once again. Gandalf, however, had been friends with him for already more than 64 years and they had endured a lot of ordeals on their travels and those had made them close.

The wizard's mind was confused completely, not a single clear thought could enter it. Everything was a mixture of pain, worry and great fear. Greater fear and worry than he had ever experienced before. He knew that if the Orcs had really captured Aragorn, that there would be no escape for him. 'They will watch him for all the time, they will not leave him alone for the tiniest bit of a second.' Even Aragorn, the experienced Ranger, would not be able to flee from a host of Orcs. If he tried and did not succeed he would be slain at once, or, if they could recapture him without having to kill him, they would torture him for sure. 

'The most evil fate that anyone can imagine is awaiting him! And I will never see Aragorn alive again!'

The only reason Gandalf could think of why the Orcs had not slain his friend at once, was, that they had had orders from Sauron to bring the Man before his seat in the Barad-dûr. No other thing would have hindered the Orcs from killing Aragorn right on the battle field. They did not fear anyone, their master and his orders were the only thing they followed. And those orders merely could mean death for Aragorn! Otherwise Legolas had found the Man's body in the grass under the shadow of Tol Brandir, but never the Orcs had taken someone with them alive.

The Enemy had to know that Aragorn was the prophesied king of Gondor, the one who wielded the Sword that was Broken and would bring doom to Middle-earth. The Dark Lord had seen that Aragorn was truly capable of doing this, for he was a man of great will and strength, and thus he had ordered to capture him, to bring him before his seat in the Dark Tower. What would happen then, Gandalf could only guess. He, though, was sure that Sauron would not be just satisfied with having captured the future king, he would try to get answers from him – about the Ringbearer, about the Ring itself and their further plans. Aragorn, however, Gandalf hoped, would not tell anything. 'He is strong in mind and has a great willpower. He will not give in to Sauron´s urges!'

But his next thought almost made Gandalf's blood run cold. 'Few people have ever come back to tell of their imprisonment in the Barad-dûr and they all told of cruel tortures. And the Dark Lord has never had a more valuable prisoner than Aragorn. He will suffer greater than anyone before!'

Those people – Gandalf did not know whether he should call them 'lucky' or not – had told of being whipped until they bled, being beaten until bones had broken like dry sticks. They had gotten no food, no water for days, and often they told that they had seen others dying from the excruciating pain inflicted on them.

Aragorn would have to endure the cruelest tortures, his death would be slow and of great agony. The Enemy would take immense pleasure from watching his victim suffer and his struggle would last for days. There was no way Sauron would kill Aragorn soon, too great worries he had caused the Dark Lord, too many plans he had destroyed. And even if Sauron did know nothing about the Ringbearer and his quest – which, of course, he did, Aragorn still was the forecast King of Gondor and with him he would destroy the hope of all people of Middle Earth. 'A long way have we come, my friend, and its end should have been at the gates of Minas Tirith where things would finally be decided, but now, alas, your way ended much sooner and I have to continue on my own. What shall I do without you? You were our hope, now only Frodo will be able to destroy the Enemy! But what of his Orcs? I cannot defeat them without men! It would have been your task to lead them into battle! And after our victory you should have been the one leading Middle-earth into a new age! What shall I do without you? Our hope is gone and I lost a great friend!'

Suddenly Gandalf was ripped out of his thoughts by a tug on his cloak. "What is it?" he snapped at the one who had dared doing that.

"Naught," a small voice said, "I'm just happy to see you again, Gandalf. We thought that you were dead." 

Only now the wizard noticed that the two Hobbits had woken. Legolas certainly had not spoken to them about his guesses or maybe even not about the necklace, therefore Gandalf tried to be friendly. After all, they had no fault in all this trouble. 

"Yes, my little friends, I have returned from the shadow to continue our Quest. But do not be afraid," he added after he had spotted a hint of fear on their faces, "I am real and nothing about me is fake. Fate was lucky and that is the reason why I was allowed to join you again."

Merry smiled. "I've missed you, Gandalf! Especially after Frodo and Sam left us some days ago. Legolas told you about this, didn't he? And did he tell you that Aragorn had to go to Minas Tirith just as we were involved in a fight with some Orcs?"

At mentioning Aragorn's name Gandalf winced and a shadow of pain crossed his face but the Hobbits seemed to be completely oblivious of that.  

"Since then," Pippin continued, "we have only walked and walked and walked. I can tell you, that was boring! Every day our feet hurt like hell!"

"Not only your feet," a deep voice said from behind. Gandalf and the Hobbits were startled and the wizard immediately reached for his sword. But as the shadow drew nearer, they relaxed again. It was only Gimli who had returned from his walk. The Dwarf shortly glanced at Gandalf. 'Legolas told you, didn't he?' his look seemed to say and the wizard nodded curtly.

"Come on, Gandalf," Pippin interrupted their quiet conversation, "tell us your tale of how you have come to meet us again! It must be a long and interesting story." The two Hobbits were totally excited. They had thought Gandalf to be dead and now he lived again, never had happened something more strange since the day they had been born.

"It is indeed one that would need a lot of time to be told," the wizard answered, "but tomorrow we will have to set out early again and our march will be long, for still Minas Tirith is our aim. Tonight you have to get as much sleep as it is possible, so I will tell my tale on tomorrow's walk. Do not fear, you will not miss it."

Pippin just seemed to be about to object but then a warning glance from Merry caught him and he turned to lie down again. "We will sleep now," he announced yawning, "but do not forget your promise!" Merry also wrapped his cloak around himself and stretched out on the ground. He almost immediately went to sleep but still Gimli, Legolas and Gandalf could hear a softly whispered "I am happy that you are with us again, Gandalf" before his eyes closed.

A slow smile spread across the wizard's face. "They do not need to be troubled in their sleep," he said, "I did not want to tell them about my grief for I had reason to guess that you had not told them either. Merry said something about Aragorn having left for Minas Tirith. You did not mention this, Legolas."

The Elf first hesitated. "I have hidden my mind from them," he then explained, "and I did not show them Aragorn's necklace either, for they have been in great worry about Frodo and Sam and I did not want to add my fear to their own. Also, I indeed had cause to assume Aragorn's fate but I did not know about it for sure. There still may exist other solutions to the riddle of the torn necklace, although I do not think so. But, you may not blame me, I just wanted to protect the Hobbits from being consumed by their own fears and thus I only told Gimli who also preferred not to believe in Aragorn's capture first but now, I guess, he does."

The Dwarf nodded. "I do now think as you do, my friend. On our way from Tol Brandir to Fangorn I had a lot of time to consider the things you told me and for me there also was no other conclusion than the one that Aragorn had been taken away by the Orcs. Alas, I would like to have reasons to object you but I fear there are none." 

Gimli shivered in the cold wind blowing through the trees. The fire gave warmth but it could not get through to his heart. Aragorn had become a close and good friend during their journey and although he had not gotten on as well with him as with Legolas, he deeply cared for the Man. On Caradhras the Ranger had given him another cloak, one of his own, although Aragorn had been as cold as he had been. 'I do not want you to freeze to death,' he had said, 'I will be able to bear the snow since I am better used to it.' Gimli had not forgotten this. Aragorn himself had been freezing terribly but as he had seen that another one needed his help, he had not hesitated and had shared his cloak. The man had always been there to protect the Fellowship and had cared for them. After Gandalf had fallen into the shadow in Moria, Aragorn's grief had surely been greater and deeper than the one of any other of his comrades. But still he had not let himself be overwhelmed by his sorrow and pain, and had found the way to the safety of Lothlórien, a land where Gimli had seen and experienced things he had not been able to imagine before, and if he did not know now that it really had been true, he still would think he had dreamed of the High Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn.

'Aragorn is a good and honest man,' the Dwarf thought, 'there just has to be a way to come to his aid. A warrior of his greatness shall not die in the hands of the Enemy.'

"What are the Orcs going to do with Aragorn?" Gimli suddenly asked aloud. Legolas and Gandalf looked up, they themselves had been in thoughts and now they shortly glanced at each other. Gandalf then only returned to staring into the fire. He was not going to say anything. 'No further worries shall enter their mind. It is enough what they know now, it would not do better if they were aware of the cruel fate Aragorn has to expect.' 

The Elf tarried for a moment, then he only shook his head.

"I do not know what plans they have in their evil minds but I am sure, that it is nothing pleasant since it is unusual that they took Aragorn with them instead of slaying him in the moment of capture. Alas, I do fear that we will not see him alive again!"

With these words their conversation stopped. No one wanted to object since they all knew that it merely had been a lie to say otherwise, but also no one wanted to continue and confirm their worries further. Legolas' last sentence had sounded too final, too hopeless to go on talking the way they had before. 

For some moments the three just remained sitting by the fire, the silence uncomfortable and thus Gimli stood up soon after. "Good night," he said, "I'll lie down to get a bit of sleep. Tomorrow will be a hard day." 

Legolas nodded. "I will leave you, too, Gandalf, but if you still need me, just say it." 

The wizard shrugged and made a slow gesture with his right hand. "You, my dear friend, deserve your rest as well as the Dwarf. I will keep watch for tonight, for I have many things to think through, but tomorrow I will wake you soon."

Legolas also wrapped his cloak around him and cast himself down. Rest, though, he was not able to find this night. Every time when he opened his eyes, he saw Gandalf sitting by the fire, his head bent down, a picture of misery.

A/N: Please do not forget to review! Pay heed to my question! It's truly important for me!


	6. Three days to Edoras

A/N: I'm truly sorry that I had to let out the episode with Treebard, and as you'll notice, also the one with Isengard and Saruman. There wouldn't have been significant changes in comparison to the books and so I decided just to let it be. I also won't change my timeline, so there will be no day missing – and the days are just continuing as I wrote. I am truly sorry for that, but I guess that "fanfiction" does not mean just to re-write whole chapters from Tolkien.

Also, as you might have noticed in chapter 5 and as you'll notice now, I'm not yet sure how to describe Gandalf. He's still not the way I want him to be, but I hope that this will improve with coming chapters. He's still too emotional in my liking, especially at one point in this chapter, but I could not let that out since it'll be important in one of the next.

Also, I want to thank: Goddess Morrigan, Stacey, Nili, zinc5, Alyce, LT, Abigail da Jedi, Mona, whit, alawa, Whitney, AJ Matthews, willie, S, Elenil, singe aliene de piano, Julia, aralondwen, and – especially – Cailinn *g* for all your wonderful reviews!! You make me happy.

Please don't forget to review!!!

Disclaimer: Oh, just the same as always: I don't own characters, circumstances…. everything belongs to Master Tolkien.

_Three days to Edoras_

In the next morning the old wizard woke his comrades early, and after a fast breakfast they were on their way again. After an hour's walk they arrived at the northern bank of the Entwash, the old river which rose in the far north-eastern end of Fangorn and crossed Rohan until it divided into many smaller streams which mouthed into the Anduin. For a while they stood there and watched the water leaping over the stones. Its murmur brought comfort to them and they felt their fears falling off their hearts and hope returning. 

"Let's cross the river," Gimli suggested after a while, "our aim is still far away and the way doesn't get shorter just from standing there."

The Hobbits laughed and even Legolas grinned. The thought of their way shrinking by remaining here at Entwash was just too amusing to keep silent. Only Gandalf showed no reaction, the burden of his friend's fate weighed too heavy upon him.

Legolas stepped into the water first and was surprised by its strength. Although the river's source was not far away, it already was a fast stream and he hardly managed to stay on his feet. "Be careful, my friends," he called. "Watch yourselves!"

The others nodded and followed the Elf. The water was cold and the Hobbits shivered as they had reached the other bank. "It would have been easier if we still had the boats," Pippin muttered.

His silent complaint was left unanswered and ere long the company was on its way again. They marched on in silence for the whole morning. It was November 30th and people would not have to wait long for snow anymore. 

The early winter sun rose into the sky, and soon after it had reached its peak, Gandalf called for a short halt. They had a frugal meal ere they set out again. Gandalf lead them in a straight way southward towards Edoras, the city in which Théoden son of Thengel, King of the Mark of Rohan, dwelt. The wizard wanted to reach the Golden Hall in three days at the latest. There they would be able to rest for one or two nights before taking on the last part of their way to Minas Tirith. Gandalf could tell that the Hobbits needed at least one day without walking, otherwise they would break soon. Never before they or one of their people had covered such a lot of leagues in such a short time as they had on their walk through Rohan.

In the late afternoon Gandalf suddenly began to speak  For the whole time before he had only said the absolutely necessary things, but he had not taken part in some conversation. His voice now was grave and earnest and the words came slowly out of his mouth as if he had forgotten how to talk and had to remember it again.

"When I am picturing Aragorn in my mind," he said completely out of connection, "I imagine him as I have often seen him in Rivendell, especially when he had been younger. A man whose eyes are sparkling and no fear can be seen in them. The wind is in his hair and a smile upon his face." The wizard paused for a moment.

"He was a bright and good hearted young man. With the years passing, though, he became more solemn and mature and his smile vanished as his burden grew. But still in some moments when he lets his guard fall down, you can see it again appearing on his face and you understand why Arwen, daughter of Elrond half-Elven, surrounded by the fairest of the Fair People fell in love with him. To her, she once said, he is like the spring for the land after a long and cold winter, like the first sunray after months of rain, like the first smile after weeks of grief and tears…" The old man's voice trailed away, the memory consuming his words. Legolas shortly glanced at Gimli. 'Can you imagine Aragorn like that?' he seemed to say. The Dwarf was just about to shake his head when Gandalf suddenly continued.

"You may not be able to imagine him like this, but I can tell you, that this man has a soul as deep as the waters of Kheled-zâram. From the outside, when you are just looking at its surface you may not be able to see a lot save the things he wants you to see, but the ones who can get a closer look will find a man with intense feelings for the people he cares about."

Gimli, Legolas and the Hobbits almost nodded in unison. "There have been many occasions I had to rely on him," the Dwarf then said, "I do not know whether I would have been able to keep a clear mind after we had left the mines of Moria. He, however, managed this and led us to the safety of Lothlórien although I could see that his grief had been great."

"In some moments, though," Legolas objected, "the man himself appeared on the surface and the warrior vanished.  Then you could catch sight of his feelings, were it grief, anger, worry or love. He is not made of stone, although I believe, that sometimes he would like it to be. Then nothing would be able to touch him anymore and he would be protected from the doubts in himself. Those, I think, are at times almost consuming and he hates them. He is terribly afraid that he will not be able to match his fathers and their deeds, that he will succumb to the Ring's power just like Isildur, that he will not be able to do what he is supposed to, be that leading Men to war, or becoming their later king if Sauron can be defeated. Those doubts have preoccupied Aragorn's mind for a long time and although he is not Elvish, I was able to feel them in some way. His emotions, his guilt were so strong at times that I could sense them and it made me feel uncomfortable. He wants to be seen as a strong man, as a warrior, as a leader and I do not think that he would have liked it, if he had known that, in a way, I could look into his soul and perceive his hidden feelings."

Gandalf nodded. "He indeed does not want that everyone can see what he truly thinks. Often he shields his opinion and believes against the people surrounding him and a long time it takes to earn his trust. But then, if you have won him as a friend, you cannot have a better one, for he is there for you when you need him and he would sacrifice his life in order to protect yours." The wizard paused for a moment and glanced at the two Hobbits. They had a hard time following their comrades and stumbled to stay on their feet.

"Today, my little friends, we will not go further," Gandalf said after a minute of thinking, "you are weary and it has become dark. Light a fire and rest then, your deeds in the past days have been great."

A slow smile spread over Pippin's face. He was relieved for he could not have walked for long anymore, but never had he dared to utter his wish to rest. Since they had left the Anduin five days ago, everyone had pressed on haste. Legolas even more than Gandalf right now, but the young Hobbit respected both for such a great deal, that he had never questioned their decisions.

After a short meal everyone had fallen asleep soon. Even Gimli had been tired and had not complained about Gandalf's offer to take the first and second watch. Legolas had wanted to object, though, but the wizard had turned him down briskly. Not wanting to argue with his friend, the Elf had given up and cast himself onto the ground. The night became cold, a chill wind was blowing across the land. The comrades wrapped themselves into their cloaks but still they were resting uncomfortably. As they had left Rivendell, no one had thought about winter coming so soon, their way had led them southward and no tree had already begun to color its leaves. 

"Mordor's power increased faster than I have ever thought to," Gandalf muttered to himself while watching the fire. "Far in the south are we and November has not come to its end yet, but snow lies in the air, I feel." He looked up into the sky. Clear was it, no clouds were covering it, and the stars shone brightly. In the east Gandalf could distantly make out the Crown of the Kings from the Sea, seven stars forming the shape of a winged helmet and in the West, hardly visible, three stars above the mountain peaks indicated the place where the White Ship of Valinor would be sailing across the sky if nothing had blocked Gandalf's sight. 

'Aragorn, oh Aragorn, my friend, where are you now? Are you still alive? Or has the Dark Lord already killed you? Alas, I am only thinking about you and not about any other things which should occupy my mind. I know, that you have great strength and great will, but what is Sauron doing to you? Almost I wish, that you are already dead and you had not to suffer for long. Forgive me, my friend. The least thing I wanted would be your death, but I fear for you and I am in great worry. Often have I heard about the kinds of torture Sauron is using and only by listening my blood froze in my veins. And now, now I have to picture you in my mind. You are being tortured in the way most cruelest of all. What is he doing to you? Does he beat you? Does he whip you? Or is he doing things I cannot even imagine? Things, only invented to inflict as much pain as possible. Slowly destroying your body but never killing you? I pray for a bearable death for you, my friend. I have been thinking about anything to help you, but no idea came to my mind. Forgive me. I am not worthy of being your friend. Once in your lifetime you do really need my and what am I doing? I am journeying through the lands with an Elf, a Dwarf and two Hobbits. I am doing not anything to help you. Not even a desperate try to free you. Forgive me, my friend. I cannot offer you hope for I have none. Not even something to quiet the voice in my mind that keeps telling me ´you should do something`. But what? I have been thinking about it, I have done nothing else since Legolas told me of your fate. I would take your pain, if I could. Believe me, my friend. You are precious to me, your company kept my travels bearable. Without you, there surely had been a point I had given up to fight. The battle against the Enemy would have been senseless for me. But there you have been. You gave me hope and a reason to fight. You should become King of Gondor, but instead you have fallen into the Unnamed's hands and there is no hope for you. Forgive me, my friend, I have failed you. The trust you have placed in me was useless. I am free and you are suffering. I have seen people who had been whipped and they were a mess. Not only their bodies but their eyes. So full of pain, anger, hate. The thing I always admired in you, was the calmness in your eyes. A look into them and things seemed to be right. Often I saw love in them and always friendship for me. But what is the torture doing to you? I fear that not only your body suffers, but also your soul. And that would be the greatest victory the Dark Lord could ever achieve. Destroying your soul, my friend. I pray for a bearable death and that includes keeping your soul. I beg you to try that, it would be the only thing that could keep me sane. To know that you had not given up yourself and that you fought Sauron even in death, despite what he did to you. I am not able to imagine the pain you have to suffer and believe me, I would take it for you, if you were to life then. Arwen is waiting in Rivendell and, the worst, you know it and cannot do anything to return. The pain you have to feel must be great. For your whole life you have been waiting for her and now, when your dream was about to come true, your world was shattered and so was Arwen´s. But still I wish that you are dead by now. Maybe the Unnamed grew impatient and killed you with a stab into your heart. I hope that so much. I know there is no hope for you and then a fast and painless death is still better than the one you are facing. But deep in my heart I feel that the last thing Sauron wants to do, is, to kill you soon and without pain. Forgive me, my friend, I cannot help you. Desperately I want block the images of your suffering out of my mind but in every waking and sleeping moment they are haunting me. I see your eyes, often full of hate, pain and anger and sometimes without life. I see your face shouting at me 'Why did you not help me?' I see your body lying on the cold floor, covered with blood. Aragorn, my friend, I have failed you. I should suffer instead of you.'

The wizard clenched his fists and gritted his teeth. His whole mind was full of worry, fear, hate and anger about himself. He could do nothing to help his friend. But he could admit these feelings merely in the nights. Never would he have dared showing them to the others. Legolas surely suspected something and Gimli had never been naïve, but the Hobbits should not worry about him. They always looked upon him as their leader and guide, and they would have a hard time to get to know that often he also did not know what to do, what was right. That he often felt helpless.

Briskly he stood up and stretched for a moment. Then he again bent down and touched Legolas' shoulder. The Elf stirred and opened his eyes.

"May you take over my watch?" Gandalf asked quietly. Legolas shortly glanced at the wizard but nodded without saying anything. Gandalf cast himself on his blanket and tried to fall asleep. Maybe he would get relieved of his worries for some time. Sleep meant oblivion. 

Morning came too soon for the comrades and the Hobbits were still yawning after the company had set out again. The chill wind from the night before had increased in strength and walking was almost an effort. Still, they continued for hours and hours and the break at noon was too short to relax their feet for some time. 

Their way led them almost straight southward across the bare plains of the Eastfold of Rohan. In the late afternoon Legolas spotted a herd of horses in the distance but the others could only see the dust raised by them. A host of men, Gimli guessed, that was in great haste. 

This day Gandalf called for a halt late in the evening. It had become dark long before, but the wizard seemed to know his way exactly and the others had no fear of being led astray. Their trust in him was great and they followed him without questioning his skills. 

This night even Gimli groaned as he was finally able to sit down while Legolas was gathering dry branches for fire. 

"Never have I been so tired before," he said. "I have not felt weariness even in the mines of Moria where the darkness lay heavy upon your spirits, but now my feet torment me and beg for rest."

A gentle smile softened Gandalf´s features. 

"My Dwarf, you have been stout and now it is no shame to admit your tiredness. I myself feel not fresh anymore, and you know that I have journeyed across the lands long before you were born." He paused for a moment.

"But you may be happy to hear that we will only have to walk on for one more day. Then we will be able to rest in Edoras for some time," Gandalf added while Legolas lit the fire and everyone settled around it. Its warmth made their weariness more bearable and the Dwarf's mood had improved. They had eaten in silence, but now Gimli got his pipe out of his pack and offered each a bit of his weed. Thankfully not having to spend their own, the others accepted it with great pleasure. 

Gandalf wrapped his cloak around him and sent from his lips a thin stream of smoke.   "Théoden, King of Rohan, has known me since the day he was born and often I came to bring tidings to the Golden Hall. He will offer us beds and food, we do not need to fear while we will be staying there. I hope, though, that the Men of Minas Tirith, who have been sharing a long and deep friendship with the Rohirrim, have already sent for the King and his Riders to come to their aid. Great battles are and will be fought in Gondor, and everyone who can wield a sword, spear or bow is needed. If no call for aid has come from Minas Tirith, though, I will talk to Théoden to send out his people, and that will not be easy despite the long alliance between the two peoples. Théoden son of Thengel has become old and weary and is not eager to take part in fight, be it himself or his Riders. You, however, must not dare to believe that the Rohirrim lack of courage, they surely do not, but like good people shall do, they follow their king's orders and do not listen to others. But Théoden must be roused out of his sleep, if he does not send out a host, doom may come to Middle Earth sooner than anyone thought to."

Interested Gimli looked up. "Often have I heard other people praising the Rohirrim for their courage in battle, for their skill with horses but also not less for the outstanding men coming from their people."

"So I did, either," Legolas agreed. "Even among my kindred in the depths of Mirkwood there are told tales of their deeds, although they are only Men."

"And these tales are true, certainly, for the Men of Rohan are no less than the Men of Gondor," Gandalf explained. "Only their king is of less lineage, for the ancient leaders of Minas Tirith once had come over the Great Sea from the west long before the Rohirrim awakened from their sleep. In the time Eorl the Young became the first King of the Mark, Númenor already was far beyond its greatest glory and only the Chieftains of the Dúnedain were still there to remind the peoples of their fathers. But still the Rohirrim have developed into a great people and their warriors have come to honor all over Middle Earth." Gandalf paused for a moment.

"But today I will not tell you further, for I am weary and my body asks for rest. You may wake me, though, for a later watch." 

His comrades nodded. During the whole day they had noticed Gandalf's tiredness and often had he stumbled. Something they had never experienced before. The wizard always had been a strong leader and guide, and even in the most perilous situations he had never shown any sign of being exhausted. For whole nights he had sat watching and had the others get their sleep. Now they were glad to be able to repay him. With a short exchange of glances they agreed on not waking Gandalf this night. 

In the meanwhile the wizard had cast himself down on his blanket and wrapped his cloak around him. Again he was looking for the relief that only came with sleep. Not in one single waking moment his thoughts had left Aragorn, his friend.

A/N: Please review, and perhaps you can tell me how to improve Gandalf…. would be great!


	7. The King of the Golden Hall

A/N: Finally I've managed: Chapter 7, proudly presented *g*. Yes, you'll notice the events in Rohan are *quite* different from the book, but the explanation again is very easy: I didn't want to re-write things, had to shorten things, and some things had to happen differently for my story. Hope, you'll like it despite my changes!

Also, I discovered that my story would become much longer than it should have become originally, so expect at least another ten chapters (or something like that). For those who do not like long stories, I'm truly sorry, but I really didn't expect that I would be able to write so many chapters. 

I'd truly liked to hear what ending you would prefer – happy one or sad one? Please tell me, I'm terribly curious! Especially for the opinion of those who have already left more than one reviews – Aralondwen and Alawa (*bows low*  *g*). Cailinn, your opinion would also be very interesting *g*!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, everything belongs to Master Tolkien…. 

_The King of the Golden Hall_

In the next morning fog was lying across the lands. The sun was only a blurred yellow spot which gave no clear light and made everything seeming unreal. In the distance some lonely trees on the endless plains rose out of the mist and silence lay upon everything. The biting coldness from the days before, however, had vanished and the wind had calmed down.

Walking had become easier again and the company covered many leagues until the early afternoon. Their surroundings were slowly changing, mountains rose straight ahead of them and their peaks seemed to touch the lowest clouds. The lonely trees gathered and formed woods, the barren plains developed into valleys and hills. The mist had disappeared and the sun sent its golden light to earth.

A feeling of joy filled the hearts of the comrades as they stepped out of a dense forest in the early evening and a vast grassy valley was stretching in front of them. At the southernmost end they beheld a city built on the northern slopes of Ered Nimrais. A strong wall running around it hindered them from seeing the houses behind, but their looks were soon drawn by the uppermost building. High on the mountain it sat, mighty it seemed, its walls of gold. 

"Behold the Golden Hall, seat of King Théoden, son of Thengel, Lord of the Mark!" Gandalf said. "There we will find rest, and peace for a while. Let us see to arrive there ere darkness falls!"

With new strength the Hobbits shouldered their packs and ran down the hill. Legolas glimpsed at Gandalf and smiled. "Joy can be found by merely looking at them," the Elf quietly said, "great peril have they endured and still they are able to forget it for a while."

The wizard's features softened for a moment. "In this they have a skill warriors are always longing for," he murmured. "We cannot leave behind our worries and fear so easily, but often we wish to do so."

Gandalf, Legolas and Gimli followed the two Hobbits who were eager to reach Edoras. In less than one hour they stood before the men guarding the high black gates at the uttermost wall.

"Stay," a tall warrior, clad in bright mail, said in the tongue of Rohan. His land lay on the hilt of his sword, his face was stern and his look dark. The long blond hair, however, was uncovered and fell upon his shoulders. "What is your errand here in Rohan? You are strangers and King Théoden does not wish to see such."

"We are no strangers," Gandalf replied in the same tongue, "for I am Gandalf, well known to Théoden, Lord of the Mark. Often have I come to Rohan and was welcomed by the King. Again I bring tidings from the North and South and the Lord will see that they are important for all the peoples dwelling in Middle-earth. I have no time, however, for long explanations, since our fate is to be decided soon. Send some men to King Théoden and they will return with the order to let my comrades and me enter!"

Wonder was in the guard's eyes but he did as Gandalf wished him to do. Not twenty minutes later the young man he had sent came back. "Open the gates," he cried, now in the Common Speech. "King Théoden wants you to enter his City! Come with me, I will bring you to the Golden Hall!"

The wizard nodded satisfied. "My friends here, though," he indicated to his comrades, "do not need to see the Lord. Our errand can be told by me and they are weary and seek for bed and food, for they have taken a long road to come to Edoras. If the King will allow, may you find a place to rest for them? You do not need to show me the way to the Golden Hall. Like I said, I have often been here and know the City."

The young man thought for a moment and gazed then at the guard who had sent him. A slight nod and he agreed. "You may come with me," he said to Legolas. "You shall find here everything that you can wish for. Rohan treats his guests well."

"We thank you," the Elf replied. "For days have we journeyed and now we are tired and hungry. Hope claimed our hearts when we finally looked upon Edoras and the Golden Hall, for we had often heard praise for the Rohirrim and their courteous attitude towards any of their guests."

The gates were opened and they all entered the city. Small houses stood along their way, ever leading upward towards a green terrace at the highest point of the hill. The Rohirrim stared at the five in wonder, for they had never before seen such strange company walking through their city. Hardly any men, though, could be seen, mostly women and children. All of them were tall, blond and had stern faces, but still the comrades could spot some friendly glances. Gandalf seemed to be well known in Edoras, the others, however, were looked upon with awe and sometimes even fear. 

The wizard left the small company soon and while he was taking his way to the green terrace where the Golden Hall of King Théoden was built upon, the others were being led to one of the buildings at the rear end of the city. Everything in Edoras looked fine and friendly, warm light was falling from the windows into the streets and the houses built higher upon the hill appeared like stars in the now black sky.

"Wait here," the young guard said to Legolas, Gimli and the Hobbits as they had entered one of the buildings. "You may want to refresh yourselves while I am fetching some food and water for you. Clean clothes will be brought soon, and after the meal you can rest here. No one will disturb you."

"I thank you again," Legolas replied. "Indeed, all the tales of the greatness of the Rohirrim seem to be true and when in later times I will met someone who speaks evil of your people, I will object and correct his opinion. But," the Elf touched the man's shoulder just as he was about to turn around and leave, "tell me, how shall I call you and where are we? This does not look like a house usually reserved for your guests."

"Haleth is my name, son of Aldor, guard of Edoras," the blond haired replied proudly. "And indeed you were right: This is the home of Déor, captain of the guard. At the gates you must have impressed him greatly, otherwise he would not have made me taking you to his own house." With these words Haleth left. 

"It is nice here," Pippin suddenly stated. "Warm and comfortable. Even the beds are looking invitingly. I just hope, that Haleth will return soon. I'm hungry. Very hungry, to say so." 

A friendly grin spread on Gimli's face. "As soon as I will have eaten something," he announced in mock solemn, "nothing will be able to keep me from sleeping in those warm and comfortable beds. Not even if the entire host of Gondor was trampling by!"

Merry laughed. "I haven't been happier since long. Finally something to eat in prospect, not this endless hunger during the journey. And also a soft bed… Everything a Hobbit can wish for!"

Legolas said nothing, although he was equally weary than the others, he just continued staring into the dark sky from one of the eastern windows. His back was turned towards his friends, and the others were not able read his expression. If they had been, though, they would have seen a grimace of pain and worry on the Elf's otherwise fair face. Now, that they were safe for a while, his concern for Aragorn returned with all of its strength.

'Warm and comfortable beds,' he thought bitterly, 'plenty of food, nothing to worry. But how are you, Aragorn, at the moment? Are you cold? Hungry? Did the Orcs allow you to sleep? Or have they tortured you by keeping you awake for all the time? I fear for you, my friend. On our way I sensed, that Gandalf has been in great worry about you and although he did not admit it, I saw that you have always been in his thoughts. And those were not pleasant, I might add. I fear, there is little hope for you. You have been captured by the Orcs and they truly are not known for their gentleness with hostages and if you are indeed taken to the Barad-Dûr, a painful death is waiting for you. But still I hope that you will have a chance to escape and that we will meet again when the Dark Lord will be defeated and you are being crowned before the gates of Minas Tirith. Since I saw you in Lothlórien, I often imagine you bearing the Winged Crown of the Kings of Old, as a ruler of great majesty, wisdom and honor. All these things are in you, hidden, but still there although you seldom let them surface. Indeed I find strength in the thought that you might therefore be able to withstand the Enemy and his servants. Your fathers were great warriors, leaders of Men and you have inherited only their best parts. The Dark Lord will not find it easy to hurt you: Your body can endure great pain, but even more your soul can, for it is strong and cannot be broken. This is the greatest gift you have brought to Middle-earth, and I know that you can use it, and the Unnamed will desperately seek to destroy this innermost part of you even if he will be torturing you in the cruelest way, beyond everyone's worst imagination. From the pain your body may die but your soul cannot. The people you met on your long road through the years were deeply influenced by you and they are carrying a part of you with them and thus you will live on even if you are lying underneath the soil of Mordor and your breath has fled long ago. Still, it is my greatest wish that you may return to become Elessar, the prophesied King and savior of Middle-earth, for your appearance on the battle field is enough to frighten the Orcs and giving hope to our fighters. But… even more, I have to admit, I do not wish to loose a dear friend.'

Legolas sighed. He could do nothing to help Aragorn, the only thing that would honor his memory was to go to Minas Tirith and fight for the freedom of Middle-earth, the dream Aragorn had been seeking to fulfill for his whole life.

The Elf turned around and looked at his friends who had already gathered around the great table, waiting for the food to be brought. Legolas also seated himself and smiled at Pippin who was watching the door intently. 

"I just hope that Haleth will return soon," the Hobbit muttered. "I haven't eaten for a long time. My stomach feels so empty."

"Poor boy," Gimli teased with mock solemn, "by now you should have learned to endure hunger and thirst, pain and coldness and not one of these things should make you feeling bad."

Pippin looked up, staring at the Dwarf but before the Hobbit could say anything, the door opened and Haleth entered the room.

 "I have brought plenty of bread," the young man announced, "and also some cans of the clearest water we have in Edoras. Déor ordered me to care best for you and if you wish anything, you just have to tell me. Rohan can offer almost everything for your pleasure."

"Thank you again," Legolas replied, "we ever will hold in our hearts the kindness of the Rohirrim."

With these words Haleth put his bags on the table and the four comrades began to eat. Their meal lasted for long and the young guard indeed had to leave again to get some more food. But at the end even the Hobbits who truly were used to lots of good food were satisfied and could eat no more. 

"That was good," Merry grinned yawning. "The only thing I need now is an entire night of sleep without having to keep watch. I will leave you now, see you tomorrow morning! Pippin, will you come with me?"

"Sure," the other Hobbit replied and rose. Together they both disappeared into a smaller chamber at the opposite end of the room and closed the door behind them. 

"Are you going to bed now as well?" Gimli asked Legolas after Haleth had also said good-night and left. Both were sitting in front of a large fire place and the warmth was caressing their skin, something they had been missing since having left Rivendell.

"So I will do," the Elf replied, "for I am weary and seek for the friendly forgetfulness of sleep. Also, we will not have a long time to stay in Edoras. Knowing Gandalf, he will try to leave as soon as possible. Not that I mind, however."

"You are always thinking about Aragorn, aren't you?" 

Legolas sighed. "So it is, he is never leaving my mind. I can feel Gandalf's fear and concern and it distracts me greatly. Indeed I wanted to believe that nothing had happened to Aragorn, but now I know for sure that it is not so. In Gandalf's eyes I can see his hopelessness and they also speak of torture and pain. He feels guilty about not being there for Aragorn when he had needed him. And this worries me deeply, for Gandalf had always been strong and full of hope, even if there seemed to be no way out. But now this has changed and fear claimed my heart."

"I know what you're speaking of," Gimli slowly answered. "I do feel like you and only the Hobbits seem to be unaware of the change in Gandalf's behavior. To them he is still the same old Gandalf from before."

Legolas did not reply. He was gazing into the fire and the flickering flames were mirrored on his face like moving shadows. His thoughts had returned to their journey, the perils they had come through, but most of it all, to the nights Aragorn and himself had sat together and talked. In these nights the warrior had revealed secrets and dreams, admitted fears he had never dared to tell the others. And he himself had done likewise. In the Man's presence he had often felt like being at home among his kindred in Mirkwood, like talking to his father or one of his brothers. 'Aragorn has always been of the quiet kind,' Legolas mused, 'never saying too much or too less, but if his counsel was needed, his answers were wise and thought-out. His life has not been long in the reckoning of the Elves, but he gained great insight in Elrond's house. I often considered him being Elvish and forgot that he was not.'

"I will leave you now," Legolas suddenly said briskly, stood up and without looking back he disappeared into the dark rear end of the house. The mentioning of Aragorn's name had destroyed his relaxed mood from before. Of course, he had been thinking about the Man for the whole time, but he never wanted to talk about his own feelings. Being an Elf, he had learned to keep them to himself if any mortal dared to ask. 'And this was the difference I experienced with Aragorn. Soon I trusted him and forgot that no Elven-blood was cursing through his veins.'

Great wonder stood in Gimli´s eyes as he watched his friend walking away. 'Never any Dwarf will understand an Elf,' he muttered, his voice clearly showing his resignation.

Hours later Gandalf woke them all to find a beautiful but cold morning. The sun was shining brightly and far away in the west the mountain ranges could be seen becoming one with the sky. No clouds cast shadows upon the land, a feeling of peace was lying in the air.

Haleth again brought a wonderful and rich breakfast, but after they had finished eating, Gandalf asked them to sit down with him and listen to the tidings he had gotten to know at his meeting with King Théoden the evening before.

The five comrades agreed and gathered in front of the fire-place where it was still warm since the flames had been rekindled ere their breakfast.

"At first the King was not pleased to see me again," the wizard began to tell, "for I often had come to Edoras and not always my tidings had been well. But still he wanted to welcome you all to Rohan and, if you had not been so weary, he would have liked to meet you. I told him of our errand and without hesitating he promised to give us horses that we would reach Minas Tirith on time. Also he was shocked to hear that the battle in Gondor would be fought sooner than everyone had thought to, and in this very moment he has his most valuable men gathering everyone who can wield a weapon and sit on a horse. A great host of Rohirrim will be sent to Minas Tirith as soon as the muster will be finished. Unfortunately this will last for two days at least and we cannot wait for so long. We have to leave before the host will be ready, otherwise I guess that we will come too late. We will stay here this day and the next night also, for I know that you all are weary, but tomorrow we will ride ere dawn comes. The King agreed and will provide us with everything we are going to need and the best horses will be given to us. King Théoden said, that he had not known about the evil fate which is waiting for Gondor. If it had it been different, he would have reacted much sooner and the Rohirrim would already be camping at the Pelennor Fields around Minas Tirith. Their friendship with the Men from Gondor has always been the most valuable one and never would he have left them to fight the Dark Lord on their own." 

For some moments no one said anything, only then Gimli asked somewhat bewildered: "Gandalf, on our way to Edoras you told us about having to 'rouse King Théoden out of his sleep' and now everything sounds like it was far easier to handle than you have thought to. I do not understand this, for you were here often and knew the king well, but your guess in this matter seems to have been completely wrong."

"Alas, my dear Dwarf, I just shortened our conversation in order not to bore you! Indeed you are right: I needed many hours and a great will to persuade the old king to do what I wanted him to. For years he has been relying on people who gave wrong and cowardly counsel. Indeed I had to wake him from a deep sleep in which he noticed naught of the things going on, but now he is alert and even wants to lead his host to battle himself."

" A great king indeed," Legolas said, "He does not deserve to die in darkness and even if the ride to Gondor will be his last deed, at least he then will have risen from the shadows to a last fair morning."

The others nodded quietly. The Elf's words were true and everyone considered the old king lucky to achieve great glory in his last days, even greater than he had had before, although he had been known as an outstanding leader of his people.

"Use this day like it pleases you," Gandalf then said, "since I warned you that there will be no delay tomorrow. Gather your things this evening and be ready to ride before dawn. I again will talk to King Théoden about the things coming."

The comrades save the wizard spent their day strolling around in the city, and watching the Rohirrim doing their work. Although the air was cold and things were already being made ready for winter, the sun was shining. The stables for the horses were cleaned and slowly the herds were driven towards Edoras. During the summer they had been grazing on the green plains some hours from the city, but in the winter the Rohirrim wanted to have their beloved animals with them. To the Men of Rohan the horses were like family and most of them would die for their sake.

Haleth again brought food for them in the evening and wished good luck for their ride to Gondor. He would not come to see them again for he had to help stabling the horses. Soon the friends went to sleep, none wanted to linger to be ready for the strenuous way to Minas Tirith.

A/N: Some annotations? Improvements? Critics? Please tell me!


	8. Through the Eastfold and Anórien

A/N: An awfully long chapter, and I needed so much time to write it. Sorry for the delay!! Luckily, I finally seem to come to Minas Tirith…at least one stage of the journey appears to be over.

One question: How are the Men of Gondor called? Gondorians? Or something like that? I couldn't find that in the books, yet I hope that some of you might know it…

Lady MR: You mentioned that it had to be March instead of November, but I changed the dates. In my story it *is* November. You'll see why….

Kara Angelle: Of course, your review was helpful and I didn't take it as a flame. Instead, I'm truly thankful for correcting my mistakes!!!

Aralondwen: Your reviews are just great, they encourage me to go on!!!!!! Thanks a lot, *hugs you*

Disclaimer: I don't belong anything, Master Tolkien owns it, although I truly wish to have Aragorn…. and Legolas…. and …… (And as for the poem, you can find it in chapter "The Council of Elrond", for those who are interested….)

_Through the Eastfold and Anórien_

Two hours ere the sun appeared on the eastern sky, the Fellowship had already gathered their gear and eaten their breakfast. They left Déor's house and went through the still sleeping city to meet Gandalf at the stables. The air was clear and cold, a chill wind had come up again and the friends considered themselves lucky to have such warm cloaks like the ones they had wrapped around their bodies.

As they drew closer, they spotted Gandalf standing beside one man of the Rohirrim who was holding two horses. They were tall stallions, a coat as smooth as a polished mirror, reflecting the light of Gandalf's torch. Moving restlessly, their color differed from sandy-brown to a dark mahogany. The left one was not saddled but both bore reins and seemed ready to cover great distances in a short time.

"I hope that you are not tired anymore," the wizard greeted his comrades friendly. "King Théoden ordered his men to give us these horses, two of their swiftest and most enduring. Legolas, you shall take the left one, Arod it is called and I was told that it is used to be ridden in Elf-fashion, without any saddle. Gimli, you will ride with Legolas, and Merry and Pippin shall take Hasufel, promised to be gentle and calm."

Undeniably the Dwarf looked uncomfortable but sensing their need for haste, he did not object despite his normal behavior.

"They are fair stallions," Legolas said as he gently rubbed over Arod´s nostrils, "we will care for them as if they would be our own. Gandalf, will you take no horse? I can see only two, but we are five."

The wizard smiled, then he turned and stared into the night, calling "Shadowfax". Soon the sound of hooves could be heard, running fast with long strides, powerful. A great gray horse appeared out of the dark, its silver mane flowing in the wind, looking as if the north wind itself had become alive and crossed the plains. No saddle disturbed this picture, no reins, a horse not tamed but drawn to Men by its own will.

"Shadowfax," Gandalf repeated, "swiftest of all, you heard my call." Then he again turned to his astonished friends surrounding him and the horse. "Last September I got this stallion from King Théoden after my escape from the Orthanc. I was brought here to Rohan by Gwaihir, the Windlord, but the King did not listen to my warnings of the treason of Isengard. He bade me to take a horse and leave. So I chose Shadowfax, best of all that there were, are and will be. Needless to say," the wizard added somewhat mischievously, "Théoden was not pleased but he did not hinder me to ride away."

"Never have I seen better," Legolas admitted, "not in any stable of any Elf I have ever met." A great praise that was, coming from the proud Elf.

"Let us set out now," Gandalf then ordered. "Our way is still far and the more leagues we cover today the better it is. The birds are telling of evil things going on in Gondor and the White Tower may not withstand for long anymore, if no aid is coming. We will bring tidings of the ride of the Rohirrim, may that improve the Men's courage and will!"

With these words the wizard mounted Shadowfax, only a moment later Legolas followed. Gimli looked up to the tall Elf and sighed. "Never have I thought that I would ever ride on a horse and now I do not even complain." 

Legolas smiled and reached out for the Dwarf. "You shall come to notice that horses are useful and a great gift towards anyone walking on two feet. From now on our journey will be far less exhausting."

In the meanwhile Merry and Pippin had mounted Hasufel with the Rohirrim's support and clutched onto the reigns uncomfortably. Their horse seemed too tall to them and the ground looked far away. "What, if I swoon suddenly?" Pippin quietly muttered. "All my bones will break."

Each of the members of the Fellowship lifted his right hand and waved good-bye as the great gates were opened and they left Edoras one and a half days after they had entered the City of the Golden Hall. Within a few meters the black night swallowed the guards, the wall, the houses and they were alone again. They would be just on themselves during their ride to Gondor, just on themselves to bring the tidings of soon arriving help and therefore new courage.

By the time the first rays of the sun were coloring the eastern sky, the Fellowship had already covered many leagues. Ever they kept on the great North-South-Road connecting the Shire with Minas Tirith, running along the mountains, but they met no other travelers, not a strange thing in these days when everyone who could, tried to stay at home to keep out of war. The rumor of Sauron´s great Orc hosts leaving Mordor had spread throughout whole Middle-earth and had left everyone in great fear for their and their families lives. Thousands of ugly and cruel Orcs, it was said, were approaching from the East and their leaders were said to be the Nazgûl, the Ringwraiths, the nine former kings of Men who had once received the Rings of Power and now had become the Dark Lord's servants. Shadows, only living on Sauron's will. Frightening all the free people, they thundered across the lands in the shape of Black Riders, no Man was able to look upon them and if he did, his heart would refuse to keep on beating and his mind would become mad.

'The hosts aim at Minas Tirith to destroy the Tower of Guard,' Gandalf thought as he was leading Shadowfax towards a swampy pond where he could drink, 'and when the White Tower will have fallen, not anything will be able to keep them from destroying all the realms in Middle-earth and shadow will sway across the lands. Sauron, with or without the Ring, will become master and soon everyone, who had not been killed, will be enslaved and the sun will never return. But is it not true, that Aragorn's fate and the one of the Ring are inseparably connected? 

_Seek for the Sword that was Broken:_

_In Imladris in dwells;_

_There shall be counsels taken_

_Stronger than Morgul-spells._

_There shall be shown a token_

_That Doom is near at hand,_

_For Isildur´s Bane shall waken,_

_And the Halfling forth shall stand._

From Gondor Boromir brought this with him and for thousands of years it has been passed from father to son. The Broken Sword will bring doom, but only if the Ring is found. Shall I believe in this? The Ring has been found, Frodo is on his way, seeking to destroy it in the fires of Mount Doom, but the Blade that was Broken dwells no longer in Aragorn's hand. How can Andúril come to our aid, when its bearer is captured by the Enemy and cannot escape? Will our Quest be successful without it slaying the Orcs and decorating the King after our victory? Aragorn, you were destined to lead Andúril to war! You and the Ring should destroy the Dark Lord that He would never return again! Has everything been useless and is the shadow inevitable?'

The wizard knew no answer to this question. Even he, wise in lore, could not say whether their fate would only be decided by the Ringbearer or if it only would turn out well when also the rightful King of Gondor returned from exile and fought side by side with his men. 

Gandalf turned his head to look for his friends. Legolas looked completely pleased with his horse and a small smile was on his fair face. Gimli, though, was still having trouble with this new mean of transportation, he showed a grim expression, and by now the Elf sitting in front of him had to have marks of his fingers in his flesh. Indeed the Dwarf clung onto Legolas that it almost hurt, his fear of falling down was immense, but still he felt some admiration for the Elf riding skillfully and with great grace. Hasufel bore the Hobbits in a slow trot, truly he now showed the promised calmness. Never let he himself be disturbed by their constant squirming and turning, he just followed Shadowfax and Arod as if he knew that he should not pay any attention to his little riders. 

At noon the wizard called for a short halt to rest the horses and to have them drinking at the banks of a small stream. Already they had come quite a way and if they could continue as they had until now, they would have reached the Firienwood in the evening. The Eastfold then would be behind them and the ride through Anórien would only take another day and a half. 'The horses became a great gift,' Gandalf mused as he was looking eastward where Minas Tirith lay hidden behind the high mountains of the Gondorian northern border. 'Without them we would have come far too late to assist the Men in their fight. Even now I do not know whether everything will be in vain.'

Soon the Fellowship was on its way again. Each felt the need for haste and even the Hobbits did not linger since they were driven by the wish to see Frodo and Sam. Thinking they soon would return from Mordor to meet them at Minas Tirith, neither Pippin nor Merry complained about the short and few halts. Slowly also Gimli grew accustomed to the horses and their way of moving. Even the height did not frighten him anymore and Legolas was relieved when the pressure applied by the Dwarf's fingers gradually wore off. During the hours they were riding on, Gimli's mind turned more and more from thinking about how not to fall down from the stallion to Aragorn and the situation in Gondor. Never before had the Dwarf seen the White Tower and except the Ranger and Boromir he had not met many Men in his whole life. However, even among his people tales of the Númenoreans were told, of their rise and fall, of their greatness in ancient times and of the cities which still showed their craft and sense for beauty. 'And Minas Tirith is said to be the greatest of all,' he thought. 'The Tower of Guard is admired by everyone who had the chance to look upon it and it is told that the whole city gleams in dazzling white when the sun is shining. May I lay my eyes upon this great seat of Men! May I see its greatness and may I be aid to rescue it from doom!'

As the afternoon was slowly turning into evening and night, the mountains began to rise and grew higher. The peaks looked like pillars supporting the great weight of the sky and their shadows were stretching eastward in the light of the setting sun. Ever had the range of Ered Nimrais been the northern border of Gondor, protecting it from its enemies but being also a clear sign that there was the boundary of a new realm which still, despite now being far from its greatest power and influence, showed some of the greatness and supremacy of the Kings of Old. Even now many northern people shivered at merely hearing the words 'Gondor' or 'Minas Tirith' and its warriors were known for their outstanding courage and bravery in all Middle-earth. They were well trained with arms and from children to old men everyone was familiar with the way of how to wield a blade or use a bow.

The shadow of a smile passed across Legolas' face. 'They call themselves Dúnedain of the South, and they bear this name with pride but never could any man of Gondor be compared to any of the North! Everyone who had once laid eyes upon any of Aragorn's kindred can tell that these are of higher lineage, greater pride and skill! It is plain that the line of kings in this land disappeared long ago, and people have forgotten their manner and approach on many matters. In the city have they mostly lived and only trained their men for war! They never remembered to teach their children the old ways of nobility! This is truly a pity! On many occasions have I seen the Dúnedain of the South riding along the Anduin, but their northern kin is just more than them. In every moment you are looking into Aragorn's eyes his royalty is revealed and you can perceive the greatness of his fathers, from Elendil and Isildur until Arathorn! I could spot naught of this in the eyes of any man of Gondor!' 

Suddenly the Elf was ripped out of his thoughts by an abrupt stop of Arod. Looking up he could see Gandalf dismounting in front of him and the Hobbits already gathering some dry wood for fire. He had been so deeply lost, that he had not noticed Gandalf reining up Shadowfax and calling for rest. Another day had passed and they had covered many leagues. Like the wizard had predicted at noon, they had reached the western eaves of Firienwood and the small river Mering was waiting to be crossed in the early morning of the next day. Then only the vast plains of Anórien would be stretching out in front of them and Minas Tirith would not be far anymore. Finally their aim was almost at reach!

After Gimli had glided from the horse, Legolas as well jumped down and looked around. He indeed liked what he saw. High trees were protecting the Fellowship from any wind and, if snow would be falling this night, it also would not get through as easily as if they had camped on the open plain. The Elf's stern features softened a bit and after some minutes he knelt down to lit the branches the Hobbits had brought to their resting place. 

Blankets they had gotten from the Rohirrim were spread on the ground, and they all gathered around the warm fire. For a moment only the cracking of the dry wood disturbed the silence, otherwise it was completely calm, neither wind nor any animal could be heard. The food as well was passed around without anyone speaking, and only after they had finished eating a soft grin flashed across Gimli's face as he remembered his pipe and fumbled it out of his gear. Peacefully he began to smoke and soon the others save Legolas joined him. 

"Gandalf, may I ask you something?" Merry suddenly said out of nothing.

Interested the wizard turned his head to the small Hobbit, nodding invitingly.

"What are you going to do when we will have reached Minas Tirith? Great battle is awaiting us, you say, but we are only five and although Gimli, Legolas and you are great warriors for sure, Pippin and I will not be of much use, will we? So far we have often been merely a burden to you and the others."

Gently the wizard touched the Hobbit's hand. "Nay, never have you two been a burden. It might seem to you that you have done naught but following our steps but this was not so. For the time Frodo and Sam still were with us, you were great support for your friends and after their leave we would not have been able to journey faster if you had gone with them. And may fate know, perhaps the time will come when you two will save Middle-earth and not any of the tall Men, proud Elves or stout Dwarfes! Not to mention the old wizards. And for the first part of your question: To Minas Tirith we only will bring tidings of the ride of the Rohirrim! Already the Men might be in fight with Orcs and good tidings are always welcome. Do not look so disappointed! Before Boromir's death and Aragorn leaving you at Tol Brandir it had been important to get these warriors to their city as soon as possible. Now, that this is not our business anymore, we nevertheless should not slacken our pace! In times of war haste is always in need and those who delay, may die or miss renown!"

The Hobbits at last seemed to be satisfied but Legolas stared into Gandalf's eyes. 'When will you finally tell them what we fear? You cannot keep them in uncertainty forever!' he mouthed.

The wizard shortly glanced at Merry and Pippin ere he returned to look at the Elf. 'Later, when they are asleep, we will talk of this matter!' he replied likewise.

Frowning Legolas accepted Gandalf's promise. The Elf had realized that he had made a great mistake in not telling the Hobbits about their guesses at Aragorn's fate. With their last remark they had shown that they were not as immature anymore as he had always seen them, and now he feared that they would be greatly hurt when getting to know about it this late. 'They will feel left out and even more they will be worried about Aragorn. They admired him and looked upon him not only for his skill as a guide but also for his kindness to them. Never had he treated him as if he would consider them unimportant and he respected their wishes and needs. He would have been a great leader of Men!'

The flames of the fire were flickering in the wind as the Hobbits cast themselves down on their blankets and fell asleep. The horses had been a great gift and the two nights in Edoras had only done them well, of course, but nevertheless everyone felt the weariness of such a long and strenuous journey. Wrapping his cloak around him tightly, Gimli as well said good-night soon and left Legolas and Gandalf on their own.

"You wanted to discuss something with me, didn't you?" Gandalf asked the Elf after he had reassured himself that all of the others were fast asleep and none seemed to be awake to be able to eavesdrop.

"I merely wanted to know about the time when you will tell the Hobbits about our fears concerning Aragorn. I have realized my mistake of shutting them out."

"Are you sure that it was not right? Do you really think that they should have known about it from the very beginning? I do not! I believe that your decision was the right one, and any other choice would have been wrong. What good would it have done if you had told them? Fear about Aragorn would have been added to their worries about Frodo and Sam, and I do not believe that they would have done as well then as they did now."

The Elf did not reply at once, considering Gandalf's words he sat quietly and did not even stir slightly.

"You may be right," he said at last, "but nevertheless we will have to tell them soon. Before we will have reached Minas Tirith, to be exact. What would you do, if we arrived there and Aragorn was missing without anyone having tidings of him?"

The wizard sighed softly. "I will show them Aragorn's necklace in the next evening and inform them about our guesses at his fate. Tomorrow they still shall ride on without knowing the truth."

Nodding slowly Legolas watched Gandalf's face. The wizard had turned his eyes from the Elf and stared into the shadows of the surrounding trees. To Legolas he seemed to be older than ever before, more weary and exhausted. 'The thoughts about Aragorn are haunting him always, his mind is never allowed to rest. Hope has left him long ago and he has to fight with the images of his friend's torture. He is no Elf and lacks our gift of suppressing the evil thoughts. Alas, that I had no better tidings for him!'

For a while both were silent, each finding comfort in the other's presence but not wanting to speak about their feelings. The flames were flickering, a cold wind had come up again. Moving shadows covered a part of Gandalf's face, making it looking hollow and drained.

"Does hope still dwell in your heart?" Legolas at last asked softly, suddenly finding the silence uncomfortably, the howling of the wind seeming to be louder and creepier than before. 

Gandalf started and looked up. Pain was in his eyes and a hint of desperation was clearly visible. 

"I…," he began ere he trailed off again and his expression became stronger. "Hope is a strange thing, isn't it?" he said then, looking at a bright star shining through the treetops. "You know that it is not possible that he could have escaped or that he will ever return, but still you are telling yourself that there might have been a chance to run away. Even the thought that He whom we do not name does not want to kill him enters your mind. You want to believe this so badly, but in the end you feel that Aragorn will die."

The old wizard sat slumped and his tall form appeared little under his cloak. "Yes, I feel it and in my heart there only dwells fear for Aragorn, and the knowledge that his death will be full of agony and pain is almost killing me! In the nights I cannot banish the images of my friend being tortured cruelly and the Enemy standing by him, laughing, encouraging his servants or even tormenting Aragorn himself. It haunts me all the time!"

The Elf was almost surprised at this outburst. Never having expected Gandalf to show his fears so clearly, he reached out with his right hand and laid it on the wizard's knee. A small gesture of friendship and comfort, but still it seemed to help the other. 

"Thank you, Legolas," he said quietly, "you do not know how important it is for me to have you around. I know that Aragorn and you have been close, and that you are also his friend makes it easier for me to come over my pain. Alas, sometimes I wish to have the Elvish gift of suppressing the evil!"

A small smile crossed Legolas' face. "For a long time have we been dwelling here in Middle-earth and if we would remember everything that is evil, our days would not be glad anymore. In my life I have already seen many friends die and the Shadow began to creep over the lands again, although I am still considered young among my people, old among others only."

He paused for a moment. "Let me take over your watch," the Elf then said. "Sleep will relieve you from your suffering and the days are long enough."

"Indeed, indeed. But night brings no oblivion, waking thoughts only turn to dream-images, not less cruel." Nevertheless the wizard rose and made some steps away from the fire. Sighing softly, he cast himself down and closed his eyes. He never noticed the painful glance from Legolas, who did not suffer less only for being an Elf. 

'It is true,' he mused, 'Elves may have the gift of being able to forget their pain for a while and otherwise we would not endure the centuries without losing our sanity, nevertheless we never disregard our friends' fate. But maybe we are thinking differently, their pain not consuming us. Alas, I would wish to understand the mortals!"

He unconsciously lifted his head but suddenly a bright star caught his eyes. It was the same Gandalf had stared at before. Its light was pure, beautiful and brought comfort to the Elf's heart. Shining in the far west, it stood high upon the sky. It was the evening star. 

´The evening star," Legolas murmured softly, "how beautiful it is! Undómiel!" 

'Undómiel, why did I have to see you?' he then almost cried out, nearly waking the others. 'Arwen Undómiel, why did your star appear now when we fear your beloved's death? It is torture for me! My mind needs rest, I am weary, and then I catch sight of you! In long nights Aragorn told me about you and I listened to his words of love. His voice so soft and tender! The worry fled out of his eyes! Moments of happiness on our perilous journey! Why do I have to see you now? Do you want to tell me that we should not give up our hope? Or do you want to say that only your star remains in Middle-earth for your heart broke when you heard of Aragorn's death? Alas, I wish I had not looked upon you! Would you only be able to speak, then you could confirm my hope or my fear! But now, I can merely guess. Should I hope or grief? Will I ever see my friend again or will he be lost forever? Dying in the Nameless Land or bearing the Winged Crown? Alas, Undómiel! Vanish and appear again only when you have better tidings!'

The Elf's head fell down on his chest and a small tear emerged on his cheek. He often had thought that he could bear his pains and hide his fears but now, being alone, all of them surfaced and he silently wept for the suffering of his friend. He never noticed that Merry had woken and watched him crying about something the young Hobbit did not know.

On the next morning Merry surveyed his Elvish friend closely. Not anything, though, indicated that there had happened something the night before. Again he was the proud Elf, a little bit unapproachable, but still friendly to everyone who wanted to speak to him. During the day, the Hobbit almost forgot about the events and every time he thought about it and glanced at Legolas, the other met his eyes and smiled – like he had ever done before. Legolas himself concentrated less on Merry than on Gandalf but as well he could not make out any difference. The wizard led them with his usual determination, he never wavered about which way to go, he never showed any negative emotions. It even seemed to the others that he became happier with each league they got closer to Minas Tirith. 

For the whole day they were riding on, steadily approaching the city. The peaks of the mountains showed more white with each passing hour, the snow came down from the very top to some hundred meters above their way. The air was crystal clear and Legolas could make out the far away shadows of Ephel Duath, the mountain range bordering Mordor. It seemed like an impenetrable wall, with no gates to enter the realm of the Dark Lord. At this thought a shiver ran down the Elf's spine. 'Frodo and Sam are taking this way. They have to go into the Nameless Land, Mount Doom cannot be reached otherwise. May fate protect them! May they not fall into the Enemy's hands! Only if they succeed, our quest might turn out well.' 

"Can you already spot Minas Tirith?" Gimli suddenly mocked him from behind. Legolas fell down onto the horse's back, he had not noticed at all that he had straightened himself. The Elf turned his head and glared at the Dwarf. His friend lifted his hands in a defending gesture and a quick smile flashed across Legolas' face.

"Sure I can," he grinned. "I already smell the women cooking our welcoming meal and the men decorating the city for our honor."

"This is very good," the Dwarf answered likewise. "I hope they will not give us this terrible _lembas_ we have to eat all the time."

Legolas did not reply. Nothing he could tease Gimli with came to his mind and so he put it down and got serious again. "Nay, I was just looking whether we will reach the Druadan Forest this day or if we have to camp on the open plains. But I expect that we will arrive there at dusk," he quickly added, suspecting the distress the thought of an open campsite caused in Gimli.

The Elf's guess turned out right. While darkness was falling they approached the wood and ere it was completely dark, they had already found a suitable place to spend the night. 

"I hope that this will be the last time we have to light a fire," Merry said as he was gathering branches. Routine had settled and none had to think about their different duties anymore. 

Gimli laughed. "Already tired of our little trip?" For the entire day he had been in a good mood and could not stop teasing his comrades. 

Merry showed his teeth. "If you want to know it exactly: Yes, I am. I again want to sleep in a comfortable bed without having to stay up in the middle of the night to keep watch over a Dwarf I do not like very much!"

"Stop arguing, my little friends," Gandalf suddenly roused his voice. "We have to fight against too many things, and we do not need to make new enemies within a group that is supposed to stick together for some time. But," he added, "Merry you do not have to worry. Ere next dusk will have fallen, we will have arrived in Minas Tirith. It is not far away anymore and if fate does not harm us, you also will be able to sleep in a warm bed after you will have eaten so much that you will think that your stomach is going to explode."

The Hobbit laughed. Peacefully he extended his hand and Gimli took it. "Friends again," they said and smiled.

Supper having passed without any interruptions, everyone took out his pipe and began to smoke. Weed was rare and only Gandalf and Merry still had some of the one they had taken with them from Rivendell. Laughing they shared it with the others, hoping that they could refill their supplies in Minas Tirith. Silence finally settled on the comrades after a day they had been as happy as they had not been for long. Merry indeed had forgotten Legolas' crying from the night before, but the Elf still remembered Gandalf's promise to tell the Hobbits about Aragorn. Having finished smoking, he sought to look into the wizard's eyes. The other nodded slowly.

'The moment I have feared for long,' he sighed and sent a stream of smoke from his lips. Righting himself up, he prepared himself for the Hobbits' reaction.

"Merry, Pippin," Gandalf softly said, "would you listen for a moment?" 

Interested they both glanced at him but sensing that the following would be important, they did not speak. 

"We have always told you that Aragorn left for Minas Tirith, haven't we? But to say the truth, we do not think so." The wizard paused for a moment to let the words sink in. "Indeed Legolas already guessed at Tol Brandir that he had been wrong. Something he found made him think differently and that is exactly the thing that makes me think like him, either." Gandalf waited a second, then he fumbled for Aragorn's lost necklace. Finally he drew it out of one of his pockets and held it so that the Hobbits could see it in the light of the fire. 

They gasped. "That's Aragorn's, isn't it?" Pippin whispered, reaching for it. "It is torn," Merry murmured. "What does that mean?"

Gandalf glanced at Legolas who nodded slowly. "Legolas, Gimli and I think that it indicates that Aragorn has been captured by the Orcs you fought against. I know Aragorn, and Legolas spoke with him about his necklace either, he would never just loose it. It is too precious to him, a memory of someone he loves deeply."

The Hobbits were silent for a moment, absently playing with the necklace between their fingers. "Why did you not tell us at once, Legolas? Don't you  trust us?" Merry finally wanted to know, sounding hurt.

Looking miserably, the Elf sighed,. "That has not been my reason. I only wanted to protect you from additional worries. You have always thought of Frodo and Sam, and your mind was preoccupied with their fate. I could not guess what the fear about Aragorn would have done to you. Forgive me for my mistake! Only lately have I realized that I had been wrong!" 

Legolas paused for a moment, unsure whether he should continue, but in the end he decided to tell the whole truth, even if it was unlike his normal behavior to share his soul with others. "Also, by not telling you I did not have to admit that there was no hope for Aragorn, that it was the only truth that he had been captured. Choosing not to tell you, I still could say to myself that I had been wrong in supposing that the Orcs had taken away our friend. If I had told you, I would have had to accept the truth – and I did not want that. The reality is too cruel, too hopeless."

"You are terribly worried about Aragorn, aren't you?" Merry asked after some minutes of silence. "Yesterday night I saw you crying…," he trailed off then, not wanting to hurt the other's feelings. After all, he was not sure whether he should have mentioned his observations at all.

Legolas looked up startled. "I was crying…," he murmured faintly, "indeed I was." He drew a deep breath, as if wanting to prepare himself or only to delay his answer. "Aragorn has been a great friend and even thinking about his fate breaks my heart. He will be tortured by the Orcs, finally death may await him, one full of agony and pain… Even an Elf cannot stand the images of a suffering friend. Yesterday my feelings were too overwhelming and I succumbed to them. I should not have done so!"

Reassuringly Gimli patted Legolas' shoulder but did not speak. There was nothing he could say to ease the Elf's pain. 'He must be ashamed,' the Dwarf mused, 'never has he been used to show his soul to mortals. And the worst, no one can help him to overcome his feelings of guilt. He thinks that he could have saved Aragorn, but if he had he been at the Man's side, anyone of the others had been captured. Maybe Aragorn even sacrificed himself to distract the Orcs from Frodo. If the Hobbit had been brought to the Barad-Dûr, a fate far worse than anything we experience right now, would have awaited us. The Ruling Ring would have found way its way back to its master.' A cold shiver ran down the Dwarf's spine at merely imagining that.

The cheerful mood of before was destroyed but Gandalf nevertheless was pleased with the Hobbits' reaction. Having expected hurt expressions since they would feel left out, he never had thought them to behave so mature, so solemn. 'They have learned a great deal during our journey so far. They have become adults and if they ever return to the Shire, they will become highly honored and many of their people will look up to them.'

"Go to sleep," the wizard then suddenly said. "It will do no good if you are just sitting around in the cold. Tomorrow we will arrive at Minas Tirith and maybe battle will come thither also. So prepare yourselves to fight, the Orcs will not let you get into the city so easily." 

Legolas glanced at the other, wanting to object, but a flaring look from Gandalf's eyes closed his mouth again ere he had said anything. Still he was grateful to be able to rest, confessing his feelings had left him ashamed and now he preferred to be able to hide under his cloak. Like the others he cast himself down and fell asleep surprisingly soon. 

'He is proud,' Gandalf mused as his eyes were resting upon his tired comrades, 'but today he showed great courage. If I would know what courage we all will need in the next days, my heart would be glad. Battle and war are awaiting us, but the end is unknown and even if victory will be achieved, my most difficult duty is still to come: Bringing my friend home for a last time. When the Enemy's forces will be destroyed, I will enter the Nameless Land and bring him home from the Barad-Dûr. Never could I bear the thought that I had left his body in the Dark Land, lying among Orcs, becoming food for rats. I have to bring him home, home to his City, the place where he should have returned to with great honor and praise. He should have become our king, leading Middle Earth into a new age, into the time when Men will gain dominion and the Elves, wizards and all other speaking people will disappear and become forgotten. Alas, at least Aragorn shall be brought home. The last favor I will be able to show with my friendship and gratitude towards him. There have been so many things that I can be grateful of, and meeting Aragorn is one of them. Alas, my dear friend, I wish a better fate had awaited you!'

The night was dark and sad and Gandalf's mood improved only when after many hours the sun was finally rising to a fair morning. Silver mist lay above the lands and still silence, but in the distance the mountains could be seen as distinct shadows. Black and dreadful they arose at the border of Mordor, protecting the Dark Lord from invading forces. Only small bridges led into the Dark Land, now already being controlled by Sauron's servants. Minas Tirith was the last stronghold of Men, of the free people, and yet it was not clear, whether the Orcs had already set their forces moving. The last tidings the Fellowship had gotten spoke only of small bands roaming through Gondor, frightening everyone living outside the City. 

'At noon we will see,' the wizard thought while waking the others. 'At noon we will look upon the valley of Minas Tirith, the Anduin shimmering in front of our eyes. Without the Great River, hope might have left us long ago. The Orcs are strong, but still not all of Sauron's hosts were able to cross the bridges. They are small and never have they been built for great forces. A valuable man with few accompanying warriors might be able to disturb the dark hosts east of the river already. They could attack out of ambushes and kill many before leaving unseen. May Denethor still have been so wise to send out some men! Therefore great disaster might be averted!'

After another frugal breakfast, the supplies of the Rohirrim were almost spent, the Fellowship set out again. Expectance had settled on everyone, the undetermined fear they had felt on their entire journey had vanished. Now the things coming lay ahead of them, not far anymore, but almost at hand. Courage would be needed and a lot of luck also, they believed, but still each of them was eager to finally do something against the dark menace. They only thing they had accomplished so far, was to wander through the lands and guide the Ringbearer, but for ten days now there had been no real duty anymore. Their only aim had been Minas Tirith, for Frodo was currently far beyond help.

To their right side, high above the forest, the peaks of Nardol and Mindolluin rose into the sky and already the rush of the Great River was in their ears when they held their breath. Peaceful silence lay across the lands, no sign spoke of approaching war. Even birds were singing, although only a few leagues to the east the great shadow of Mordor darkened the land and by night the fires of Mount Doom could already be seen casting a red shine on the horizon. In the valley of the White Tower, however, the Black Breath had not done any harm yet, the will and power of the Men guarding the free peoples had been too strong. 

For the whole morning the comrades rode on, two hours ere noon finally turning southward after days of steady traveling to the east. To their right Amon Din arose, the road they had used since having left Edoras leading around its slopes. Finally, before their way led down into the Stonewaine Valley, Gandalf halted his horse and still as a statue Shadowfax stood at the rim of the steep cleft the road was winding down.

His comrades reined their stallions down and came to a standstill next to the wizard. Each of them gasped: At the southernmost end of the valley a great city, gleaming white in the light of the midday sun, took their breath away. Built on the thrust-out knee of Mount Mindolluin there was Minas Tirith, the Guarded City, with its seven walls of stone so strong and old that it seemed to have not been erected by Men but carven by giants out of the bones of the earth. As the five were staring down in wonder, the walls looked like passing from looming gray to white. The White Tower, standing high within the topmost wall, shone out against the sky, glimmering like a spike of pearl and silver, tall and fair and shapely, and its pinnacle glittered as if it were wrought of crystals. White banners broke and fluttered from the battlements in a soft breeze and thus the remainders of the Fellowship of the Ring beheld Minas Tirith, the old seat of the Kings of Men, stronghold in battles and splendid in times of peace.

A/N: Critics? Improvements? Annotations? Please tell me! 


	9. The Lord of the White Tower

A/N: So, finally chapter 9 is up. (You see, Julia, your wish is my command *g*) I seem to steer directly into a writer's block for I appear to update slower and slower…. I'm awfully sorry about that. This chapter is also, maybe, not really bringing the story forward – it's more about a gap-filler, if you know what I mean. Nevertheless, I think it to be quite important, otherwise I'd left it out (as I've done with Isengard and Treebeard and such). 

Oh, yes, I changed the High Court and some other things in Minas Tirith, because they fit better in my story in the way they are now. The statue of Elendil, for example…

Cailinn: I merely mention 'Faramir'….. you know!

Also: A HUGE, HUGE THANKS TO ALL MY REVIEWERS! Without you, there might never have been this chapter (and the following ones…)

Disclaimer: (It's becoming boring to write the same in each single chapter, but…) I don't own anything, everything belongs to Master Tolkien (no money is earned).

_The Lord of the White Tower_

"Minas Tirith," Legolas cried, "the city of Men, praised in song and tale!"

Gandalf smiled. "It is famous, indeed, and the last remnant of the craft of Númenor. But see, to us different things are more important than its greatness: No host of Orcs is camping on the Pelennor Fields, the way to the gates is free! Sauron's servants have not reached the Guarded City yet, maybe Denethor, steward of the Kings of Old, has truly used his wits and sent warriors across the bridges. Let us not linger, however, haste is still needed and the Orcs may not be far away anymore. They are running fast and if they once will have conquered the links across the Anduin, not many hours will pass until they will be gathering on the Fields, wielding their blades and attacking with brutal force."

With these words Gandalf spurred Shadowfax and the horse fell into a slow trot. Although the wizard wanted to reach the city as soon as it was possible, the cleft was steep and never would he have risked to misguide his horse. Still, his desire to speak to Denethor, 26th steward of Minas Tirith, was great. For almost thousand years now, since the day King Eärnur, last heir of Anárion, had died in the hands of the Enemy in 2050, the stewards had ruled in the City of Númenor and waited to surrender their office to a descendant of Isildur who was to return when plight would be greatest. At least so the lore-masters still told.

Denethor, son of Ecthelion II, was already old and if fate would have had it different, he soon would have passed his seat to Boromir, the elder of his two sons. Faramir, the younger one, had never been the one he favored and although in some matters both wiser and sterner than his brother, he was never able to earn any praise from his father. 

'I need to persuade Denethor not to give up fight,' Gandalf pondered while leading Shadowfax down the sheer descent to the grassy plains stretching along the banks of the river.

"The steward has lived for long and many years," he then said aloud, "and courage has left him long ago. His mind is confused and the only thing still clear in it, is the love for his son Boromir. Alas, his grief will be great at my tidings of his death! My hope, though, does not lie in Denethor. I place it in his younger son Faramir. Not often have I seen him so far, only about three times, but when I visited Gondor last time, the young child had grown into a man, great of strength in body and mind. He is valuable and not as self-regarding, obsessed with his own renown, as Boromir had sometimes been, though he was truly noble and honorable. Never would I defile his memory! Faramir must be about 36 now, still quite young for a leader, but nevertheless trustworthy and in times of war age has to be the least we are to care for." 

Legolas nodded. "Great men need to be found in battle! Often those who are praised with honor in peace diminish in fight and those who seem to be not worth of a single glance, rise and cast shadows onto the others."

"And such could be Faramir," Gandalf replied while Shadowfax took the first steps on the plains and fell into a fast trot. "I remember him tall and of great courage, and I know that he is the man I must talk to when his father will not meet my wishes. For something has to be done, even if the Lord does not approve!"

Slowly the comrades drew nearer to the city and with each meter they covered their astonishment grew and the Hobbits, who had never before laid eyes upon such craft and never even heard of it in tales, were silenced completely. They did not speak a single word, and if Hasufel had not just followed Shadowfax and Arod, they had forgotten to come along. Tall rose the uttermost wall in front of them, and behind it the other six rings towering each other could be seen. Each circle was smaller than the one before and the topmost only protected the White tower, the seat of Denethor. The city's splendor was great and an air of power was radiating from it. It was to easy to believe that so far no one had dared to attack the Tower of Guard, it would cost a long time and many people would be slain until all of the circles would be conquered to reach the Lord. Behind each wall a great amount of warriors could hide and if one would be overcome, still all the remaining fighters could withdraw to the next. Many Orcs that were willing to die would have to be sent from the Barad-Dûr. The Hobbits almost believed that it was impossible to gain dominion over this great stronghold, but as they would see in the next two days, it was not.

Five tall warriors were blocking their way with spears as the Fellowship had finally reached the great gates a short time after noon of December 6th. They had needed more than two hours to cross the plains, the city had appeared to be closer in the crystal clear air of the fair morning. Ten days had passed since Gimli, Legolas and the Hobbits had set out from Tol Brandir, ten days in which they had had no tidings of Frodo nor of Aragorn. They had gone through a lot of ordeals, hope had been lost and hope had returned. Gandalf had come back from the shadow, their guide in way and heart. 

Soon the fate of all peoples in Middle Earth would be decided and each of them knew that they had given their best to have it turning out well. Now the burden was lying on Gandalf's shoulders, he was the only one who could persuade Denethor to obey to his plans. The only one who knew how they could help Frodo best. For the others the most difficult part of their quest was now fulfilled and not much things were left to do. Their arms could aid the Men and Orcs could be slain, but doom they could not bring nor avert.

"Halt," the foremost guard cried in the Common Speech. "Who are you and what is your errand? Give good reasons or permission to enter the city will be denied! In times of war we cannot have anyone come and leave as he wants to!"

"I am Mithrandir," the wizard said calmly, "by some called Gandalf the Gray. Often have I been here and I wish to see Denethor, Lord of Minas Tirith. I am bringing tidings of his son Boromir!" 

"Boromir," the five cried in unison. 

"Quick, open the gates!" the one who had spoken before ordered. "We have heard nothing of him for long, and we are eager to get to know about his fate. Yet, there are rumors that he has perished not long ago. Are they true or shall we call the people telling those liars?"

"Ere anything will be said," Gandalf replied sternly, "I want to see Boromir's father. Shall he not be the first to get tidings of his son?"

Remotely the guard nodded. "I will lead you up to the White Tower myself," he then announced. "I will be faster than any of the others, for the way is better known to me. Follow, if you may! The horses will be tended to by my men."

Curgon took off his helmet and gave his spear away. He did not seem to be older than forty, Gandalf guessed, and his eyes were dark, his glance keen. Black hair that fell on his shoulders made him looking similar to Aragorn and still there was a great difference between the two Men. Arathorn's son was moving more fluently, his whole way of walking more gracefully but also more determined. In his eyes wisdom lay underneath the sometimes piercing glance, something that the Gondorian lacked.

The wizard suppressed a smile. 'Of course, they both cannot be compared. I do measure up an ordinary guard of Gondor, worthy fathers he though might have had, to Aragorn, son of kings, descended in a line unbroken for many thousand years, having been raised by Elves in the house of Elrond! I forgot that Men are less alike than Elves!'

The comrades did not come across many men, while Curgon was leading them through the first two rings of gray stone. But although only stables for horses and some smithies had been built there, it still looked completely different from the City of Edoras, seat of the King of Rohan. They faintly could feel an air of power and might, nevertheless they could not say whether it was only a shadow of long forgotten days or being emitted from the White Tower. Each of the Men they caught sight of, were tall and their faces showed a grim expression. Not unfriendly, though, but like the features of old warriors in which furrows had been written by overcome peril. 

As they were climbing higher and higher, more people came into their view, also some children and women crossed their way. The feeling of high nobility increased with each circle they passed and the houses become more decent and splendid. All men bore sword, spear and a few were even carrying a bow, something that would never have happened in Edoras where war was far away, and the Enemy and his land lay beyond many leagues and high mountains. In Minas Tirith guards were posted at each gate at each wall, the whole city seemed to be prepared for war. All supplies, their leader told them, had been brought to the two uppermost circles, the houses below were abandoned and people slept in hastily erected huts.

"The Enemy will not be able to conquer Minas Tirith," he said defiantly, "not without losing many of his creatures. Never will we give up our city, our home for many thousand years. The White Tower will be the last that will fall if He whom we do not name should ever gain rule over Middle-earth!"

"It is this I am hoping for," Gandalf replied, "great trust is placed into you and if you will be overcome, nothing will be able to withstand the Enemy anymore."

At last the comrades and their leader stepped through the gate in the seventh wall. In front of them the White Tower rose into the sky and cast a huge shadow on the surrounding meadows. Silver fountains filled the area with the sound of gurgling water, and an air of peace was all around. A white-paved court led to a great hall – the High Court –  that had been built in front of the Tower, and tall men in bright mail and with shining arms were guarding the gate. Everything gave a great sense of nobility and royalty, a place where once upon a time great kings had dwelt.

The Hobbits were astonished. Surrounded by such greatness might, they felt small and young. In the Shire no one had ever seen such and if one had, his tales would have been called lies and after a while he would have given up his attempts to tell his people. 'No one will ever believe us, if we'll be able to return,' Pippin thought breathlessly, 'I would not even believe myself, if I wouldn't know that I was wide awake.' 

Curgon briefly talked to one of the guards ere the high door was opened and the Fellowship was allowed to enter the High Court. Then, however, they were bidden to wait for some moments since first a messenger would be sent to Denethor to inform them of their arrival. 

Only a few minutes later the man returned and gave them permission to enter. "The Lord is eager to get to know about his son's fate. Make haste!"

A grim smile crossed the wizard's face and he was the first to enter the dark hall. Pillars supported the roof, the whole atmosphere was gloomy, even dismal. Tall statues framed the walls, looking closer, they resembled the Pillars of Kings at Argonath: Isildur and his brother Anárion. The most splendid of them all, though, showed Elendil, greatest of Númenor. An aura of light seemed to surround him as he was portrayed sitting on his throne, in his hand the Scepter of Annúminas. The Winged Crown rested upon his brow and wisdom was in his stony eyes. The craft of Númenor had managed to freeze this picture, and even hewn in stone the king seemed to be alive, to watch them as they made their way over to the simple but high throne standing in front of his feet. A guard that was mightier than all armed men.

"Behold Elendil, who overthrew Him whom we do not name in the battle of the Last Alliance," Legolas suddenly whispered. Many tales were told in Mirkwood about these days and Elendil, although being a Man, was still honored highly among the Elves.

"He was a great king indeed," Gandalf said softly, "and we must have hope that his heir will be as strong as his forefather was."

Only Gimli and Legolas understood that the wizard again thought of Aragorn. 'This is the hall where he once should have taken over rule again,' the Elf remembered, 'the hall where he should have sat with his Queen and the spirit of old Númenor should have become awakened again.'

Gandalf then gestured to his companions that they should not continue to talk. They had come closer to the end of the hall, Elendil was towering above them and below his right elbow a silver tree glittered in full bloom. But soon their looks were drawn to an old man sitting upon a black and unadorned chair some steps below the high throne. A small rod with a golden knob was in his hands while he was staring at his guests with a piercing glance. 

"Hail, Denethor, Lord and Steward of Minas Tirith," Gandalf said aloud with a determined voice. "I am bringing tidings of your beloved son Boromir, and I have come in this dark hour to give counsel in need."

"Your advice is not necessary," the old man snarled unfriendly, "it often was evil and brought even greater darkness. But I was told that you have brought some with you who can give me tidings about my son. Come closer, if this is true!"

Uneasily Legolas glanced at the wizard but as he got no response, he made some steps towards the steward. "Indeed it is right," he said, shifting somewhat uncomfortably, "for a long time your son accompanied our Fellowship, and we do miss him greatly." The Elf paused for a moment, he was almost afraid of the man's reaction to his son's death. He slowly wetted his lip and continued only as Denethor´s look became even more penetrating.

"Never," he said gently, "shall Boromir come home again to the White Tower, for he perished in battle ten days ago." 

A deadly paleness appeared on the steward's face but the Elf could not pay heed to the old man. If he had, he would not have been able to go on. "In his last fight he earned great honor, he gave his life to protect us, his companions. He fought until the very end and many Orcs fell, slain from his hand. In tales will his bravery live on and he shall be praised among all peoples."

Denethor said nothing, his grief was too great to be able to talk right now. He merely tightened the grip on his rod and shook his head in a silent gesture to leave him alone. He wanted to see no one, even not the ones who had witnessed his son's perish. Into his dark chamber would he go to mourn, and if darkness would sweep over Minas Tirith and Gondor, he would not try to hinder it. Denethor had merely lived for his elder son and after his death, life made no sense anymore.

Sympathetically Gandalf looked at the suddenly shrunken man, all of his energy seemed to have left him, and pity was in the wizard's eyes. Never had he had a child of his own, but Aragorn had claimed that place in his heart, and when the tidings of his capture had almost broken him, the Istari, who had yet witnessed so much evil, could only guess how deep the grief of a real father had to be.

Nevertheless he knew that he could not give in to Denethor's wishes right now, the matters he had come to discuss, could not be left unsaid.

"Lord of Minas Tirith," he addressed the mourning steward, "this were evil tidings indeed, but still you have to put aside your grief for some days. Unstoppably the Shadow is moving towards your city, your men have to prepare for war, if they have not done it so far. Some warriors have to be sent out to cross the Anduin, to roam through Ithilien to disturb the hosts of the Nameless Land. Various tasks have to be fulfilled, otherwise the city will be taken soon and doom will befall the lands. The Unnamed will soon be ready to attack, it is almost a miracle that he has not done so yet. Rise, Lord, before you will fall and lead your people to peace!"

The steward did not even look up. For minutes he said nothing, and as he finally began to speak, his voice sounded broken and drained of life. 

"Shadow is coming, you say," he murmured, "but does it matter when your son, whom you have loved, has perished far away from home? Never will I be able to look upon his beloved face, the one who remains cannot fill the gap the death of his older brother left. Already I have sent him to Ithilien, since then he has not returned and no tidings arrived. Faramir might also be slain in the task you wanted me to remind about. I am old, but still I know what has to be done in war: The men of Gondor have been summoned to the city, arms and supplies have been gathered. Minas Tirith will not be conquered! But alas, even if it would be different, it would not matter anymore!"

"To Ithilien has Faramir been sent?" Gandalf's sigh almost echoed through the wide hall. "I wished to speak to him upon an important errand… Did you tell him when to return or should it be his own decision?" he then again turned to Denethor questioningly.

"Nay, I did not talk to him about this. May he succeed or not, I never trusted him to lead the men he took with him on this task."

Gimli sharply glanced at Legolas. Never before had he heard a man speaking so evil of his son, of his own flesh and blood, and now it was the ruler of Gondor who became the first. Among his own people no one would ever have dared to do so: Even if one's son had done evil things, he always stayed one's child. But certainly Faramir had done nothing to upset his father, as far as the Dwarf could tell from Gandalf's tales about the younger son of the steward. 'Honest, he said, and trustworthy, and still his father speaks of him as if he would be as far from his heart as if he had never seen Faramir before. Remembering Elrond in Rivendell, there cannot be a greater difference: Even in the mighty Elf, never sharing his feelings with mortals, everyone could perceive the affection for his two sons, Arwen and Aragorn, though he is only adopted.' The Dwarf shook his head ere he turned his attention to Gandalf and Denethor again.

The two were still arguing about the way war could be averted. The wizard seemed to prefer to take over command of the warriors, and Denethor appeared to think that everything that could have been done, had indeed been done. 'They will never come to a conclusion,' Legolas mused while looking around in the great hall and staring at the tall statues. 'We could vanish into thin air right now, and they would not even notice. What are we doing here at all? Gandalf as well could have brought the tidings of Boromir, and we could have snatched some hours of rest ere battle will begin. Hopefully they will stop arguing soon!'

Gandalf almost seemed to have heard the Elf's silent plea, for he suddenly turned and walked towards the high door they had come in through. The others merely stared at him in wonder, even Denethor could not conceal his marvel at the wizard's actions. 

"Wait," the steward then surprisingly called, "wait, Mithrandir! I have acted foolishly, come back! You are right, talk is needed!"

An almost mischievous grin curved Gandalf's lips ere he turned again and slowly took his way towards Denethor once more. Parts seemed to be reversed by now, the wizard appeared tall and mighty while the steward looked like a man crouching at his master's call. Passing his comrades, Gandalf gestured them to leave, nothing that they needed to hear would be discussed now. Later the wizard would inform them about the important matters. Gratefully Gimli and the Hobbits bowed, only Legolas lingered for a short moment ere he also left.

The sun was still shining brightly as they had found again their way back to the place in front of the High Court. The guards did not hinder their way as they slowly went down into the sixth circle once more. With passing the gate, the aura of royalty vanished, and the Hobbits at once felt their breath becoming easier. In the dark hall the dense atmosphere had almost left them choking, not that the air itself had not been mild, but all the statues of long perished men and the tokens of high nobility had created a mood in which Merry and Pippin had not felt well. 

"Wasn't it queer?" Pippin whispered to Merry while they were following their two comrades into a lower circle where someone would be found who could assign them any housings.

 "Neither in Rivendell nor in Lothlórien I felt so… strange, if you know what I mean." 

The other Hobbit merely nodded, but before he could answer, Gimli, who had overheard their conversation, intervened. 

"I sensed it either. In Rivendell you and Frodo found great joy in seeing Bilbo, and although Elrond certainly is one of the wisest dwelling in Middle-earth, the air there was less laden with sorrow and grief. And in Lothlórien everything lived in the spirit of Lord Celeborn and High Lady Galadriel. Their greatness truly surpassed everything that we had known before, and with each breath you could feel that nothing evil existed there and that every evil thought had been left beyond the borders. Here, I would say, you see that no king of high lineage has dwelt in this city for a long time, and that the throne has been abandoned."

"But you also have to understand," Legolas objected, "that even in ancient times the kings not only possessed might and glory, but also that often their lives were overshadowed by evil fates and deeds. Isildur was not just the one who cut It from the Unnamed´s hand, he also was the one who did not throw It into the fires of Mount Doom when Elrond had led him there. So it went on and on, and there have ever been kings who were not as good as tales make them. All of these deeds, and the grief and sorrow they caused, are still dwelling in the city and in the hearts of its men. The air is of royalty, as you all have noticed, but underneath it also carries the foul smell of things that were. The return of the rightful king should have remedied it and Elendil's greatness should have been restored."

A/N: I know it was quite short, but I'm sure there's still plenty to criticize… Feel free to do so!


	10. Helmets split, mail bloodstained

A/N: So, there's chapter 10 up. Forget the writer's block I wrote about last time, things only seem to get better and better. This one's just a shorter chapter, but I finally know how to go on. Read and enjoy, and wait for chapter 11 coming this week! (Hopefully!)

Disclaimer: I own nothing! (Just to shorten things *g*)

_Helmets split, mail bloodstained_

With these words the Elf took some steps away from his comrades and made his way over to a small spot in the wall where one could look across the lands. The grassy Pelennor Fields, only interrupted by the old road upon which the Men of Minas Tirith once could reach Osgiliath ere this city had been taken by the Enemy, were stretching in front of his eyes until they suddenly came to their end at the banks of the Anduin. The river there sharply bent southward and continued its journey down to the Bay of Belfalas where its mouths finally reached the Sea. Its water was shimmering silver in the bright sun, and when Legolas was straining his ears, he even could hear its soft roaring. To his right the tall Mindolluin rose into the sky, its peak and rocks below already covered with the white glint of snow, mist arose in the west and dark clouds were forming there. They were gathering low above the ground and Legolas guessed that they brought great amounts of snow with them. 

'Winter has finally come,' he mused, 'had it been some years ago, I indeed would have expected its beginning later so far in the south, but the eastern shadow has covered all the lands and although the clouds are not coming from Mordor, the Black Breath has sent out its poison all across Middle-earth. Nothing remains unscathed and the fair is disappearing. Once even the Nameless Land must have been a country where trees were growing and everything blossomed. But with the appearance of the Enemy the shadow spread and everything that once had been beautiful has been covered as if winter had laid a blanket of snow above it. Even in Ithilien, once entirely fair and delightful, the changes can already be seen, yet the Unnamed does not have conquered it wholly. But the trees are dead and no flower sends its lovely smell into the air. Water has become undrinkable and all animals have disappeared. Whether they died or escaped, I do not know.'

Slowly, not willing consciously but as if drawn by an invisible force, the Elf then turned his head to the east. Darkness was lying above the mountains which were only even darker shadows against the black sky. Night was still hours away but in Mordor it was eternal. No light could send life into this everlasting shadow, and the only thing that hindered the darkness from total victory, were the fires of Mount Doom lashing into the sky and coloring it with a dreadful red, seeming to come right out of Hell.

The Enemy had turned the whole country into a barren wasteland where no one who had been born under the sun, could survive. Only Orcs and some even worse creatures were able to draw a breath there, but even for them the air often was too laden with the foul smell of the Unnamed and if they had not been utterly frightened, in some the wish to escape would have emerged. 

With a great effort of willpower, Legolas withdrew his eyes from this sight and at once a heavy burden that seemed to have lain on his chest, disappeared and breathing became easier again. Never had he noticed the struggle it had caused while looking into the Dark Land and only now he felt the difference and was relieved. The shadow had released him and he had returned to the land of the living, at least it appeared so to the Elf.

Wearily Legolas turned back to his friends again. They had stayed at the road, not wanting to disturb their comrade's thoughts. A strained expression was on his face now as he was walking towards them. 

"Come," he then merely said. "I want to sit down for a minute or two. I am exhausted beyond belief." 

Not waiting for a reply, the Elf crossed a wide lawn on the right side of the street and placed himself an a huge stone, facing the road, but with closed eyes. The two Hobbits exchanged anxious glances. Never before had they seen their friend in such a state. Ever had he been a strong warrior, able to walk on for hours, and when the others had fallen asleep for long, he had not even been tired. 

Merry and Pippin sat down on the lawn in front of the Elf while Gimli remained standing next to his friend. He also was worried about Legolas who had always teased him with never becoming weary and exhausted. 

For quite a while the four companions kept sitting there, saying nothing and not even stirring. An uncomfortable chilliness crept up their limbs, and their feet were slowly feeling numb. 

Afternoon was turning into late afternoon and the sun was making its way across the sky. Already it seemed to touch the peak of Mount Mindolluin, coloring the white snow with a beautiful golden shimmer, when suddenly a harsh, fearful cry disturbed the silence and each was ripped out of their thoughts.

"Open the gates! Quick! Quick!" 

Legolas immediately leaped to his feet and ran towards the wall once more. A male voice, with terror lying underneath, had yelled these words and they had seemed to come from outside the uttermost circle. At once great turmoil arose in the city and many men were streaming towards the gates to look for the source of that cry. 

Across the Pelennor Fields about thirty riders were rushing towards the city, their swords drawn but they did not look ready for fight. Instead they appeared to flee from a dreadful pursuer. Most of the men had lost their shields, helmets were split and their mail was bloodstained, seemingly the last remainders of a skirmish that must have been cruel and many warriors would not return from it anymore. The Gondorians were not a people who ran away at the first sight of the enemy, no, they were experienced combatants who had been trained to defend themselves.

Only the hindmost of the riders seemed to be relatively unhurt and he looked less weary than the others. Yet he did not appear that he had not taken part in the fight, instead he seemed to be their leader: Proud was his face, though it showed deep concern now, and his eyes were of a shining gray. No helmet was on his head, the black hair streaming with the wind and he held himself upright, looking straightly forward towards Minas Tirith and its protecting walls.

Within some minutes the riders had reached the opened gates and immediately disappeared beyond the firm walls, vanishing from Legolas' angle of view.

'Was that Faramir?' he silently questioned himself. 'I remember, Lord Denethor said that he had been sent out with some men to defend the bridges and to disturb the Orcs in Ithilien. Alas, if he indeed has come back, fate has turned out evil. They did not appear victorious, and I do not think that they had fled with such terror, if they had been successful. Gandalf will know more about it when he returns from the steward. I truly have to speak to him!'

With a wry smile, Legolas went back to his comrades who had again been waiting at the road. They had not dared to come with him, for a crowd of Men had gathered around the Elf and, small as they were, they had feared to get choked. 

"I suppose that this was Faramir, the one Gandalf told us so much about," Legolas said. "This time, though, he appeared to have failed. Few men were with him and all seemed to have survived only barely. Were it not Denethor's words that his son was to defend the bridges across the Anduin?"

Gimli nodded slowly. "Yes, the steward said so. Boromir was sent to Rivendell and Faramir should go to Osgiliath to hinder the Orcs from coming westward."

"Alas," Legolas murmured. "Indeed I had wished that I had misunderstood the Lord. Well, now the bridges must have fallen, the Orcs must have conquered them and many people seemed to have been slain. Never would a sensible man take only thirty men with him on such an important errand! Doom is coming to Gondor and in my reckoning, it will not turn out well! Nevertheless we should try to get some rest. By tomorrow, I guess, there will be great hosts gathering in front of the walls and every sword, bow or axe will be needed. Come with me!" 

Slowly the Dwarf and the two Hobbits followed their Elvish friend. Merry and Pippin felt chilly and shivers ran down their spines. Thinking of a great army of Orcs attacking the city had made their blood run cold. Although they had had time to adjust to the thought that they soon would be involved in battle, now, as it was close at hand, an uncomfortable feeling had crept into their hearts and their self-confidence had dwindled. 

'Bilbo,' Pippin pondered, 'I'll never see you again and you'll never get to hear what fate we have encountered. We promised you to come back and to tell you everything that we had come across, but now we'll die defending a city which we had not even known when leaving you! Frodo and Sam are in Mordor, maybe they're also dead by now! Who knows? What would I give to be in the Shire now, I wouldn't even mind cleaning the kitchen after a huge feast!'

Merry´s expression was grim and he gripped the hilt of his sword. In his heart the same doubts had awakened and he could not bring himself to think of what was to come. He felt ashamed at this sudden fear. 'I haven't hesitated at Amon Hen where such a lot of Orcs attacked us, and we were far less than we are now. Only Legolas and Gimli, Pippin and I. Not a single one of these tall Men so experienced with arms and battle. They've ever lived in sight of the shadow and I, who saw it once, am despairing! My father would be ashamed if he could see me right now! 'You've fought the Orcs before and no cave troll, even no Balrog, was able to frighten you more than you are now,' he would have said. And he is right! Why should I be afraid? My friends are beside me and I can trust them! They'll defend me and I'll defend them. And there are still Frodo and Sam, seeking to destroy the Unnamed, and with him his hosts will fall! I only hope that they'll reach Mount Doom in time!'

In the meanwhile the four comrades had reached the house that had been chosen for them to sleep there. Stepping onto the threshold, Merry lifted his head with new faith and looked to the western sky. Darkness was already settling on the land, a new night reached out with his fingers, but nevertheless the sun had not been overthrown completely. Its rays seeming to touch the peak of Mount Mindolluin, coloring its white snow with a golden shimmer, it still could be seen in the far west.

'As long as the sun will shine, there will be hope. The Enemy can't bear a single ray of light, it burns a hole into his heart, and if we'll fight for the sun, we're fighting against the Unnamed. The sun shall be our token of victory!'

Smiling, the young Hobbit closed the door of the house and disappeared into the warm interior. Legolas had already lit a fire and heat was radiating throughout the whole room. Food had been placed on the table, obviously prepared by some Gondorians. The beds appeared comfortable, and with seeing the white sheets Merry suddenly felt how tired he was. This day had not been less exhausting than the ones before, although they had not been walking or riding for all the time. 

But still grinning, he placed himself at the table next to Pippin and together with the two others, they had a real feast. Plenty of food was there, and they even got wine for drinking, not the endless water they had had for ages, at least so it had seemed to the Hobbits. 

An almost merry mood came up during the meal and so they ate and ate until they could not swallow anything anymore. 

"I think, if I get one another bite, then I'll be sick," Pippin laughed as almost all the food had disappeared in the hungry stomachs. 

"Me too," said Gimli, and teasing, he added, "and I guess that Merry would not make a difference." 

All eyes turned to the small Hobbit who could not even answer with his mouth filled that it looked like it would burst. Helplessly he shook his head and shrugged. 

"If you can, you have to," he said after he had swallowed. "Old Bilbo, I guess, once said this and I only transferred it to food."

Laughter rippled through the room, something that had not happened for long. Save the brief break in Edoras, there had been no merry time since they had left Lothlórien, and even there they had not been able to be utterly happy. Too short time had passed since Gandalf had fallen into the shadow and the Elves, though friendly, had intimidated the Dwarf and the Hobbits. Also, they had needed long to fully trust Legolas and to behave unguarded in his presence. Too often had they experienced – or heard – that Elves felt superior to all other people and that everyone could perceive this in their daily actions.

Not long after the meal Merry and Pippin disappeared into one of the bed-rooms and made themselves comfortable. Legolas and Gimli, though, remained at the fire-place. No word disturbed the silence, the Dwarf was quietly smoking his pipe and the Elf was watching the flames. 

An air of peace had settled on them and although Gimli was tired as well, he could not bring himself to leave. But with the passing time, his yawns became more frequent and finally Legolas bade him to go to bed. 

"Go to sleep, my friend," he said. "It is not unlikely that battle will come to Minas Tirith tomorrow and I do not want to combat with a tired Dwarf. You see, that I have not forgotten your bet that you would slay more Orcs than I. Only strong arms can wield an axe to behead these foul creatures."

Challenging, the Dwarf looked at his friend. "I have not forgotten it either, and, you will notice, that I will win by far!"

With these words Gimli rose and left the Elf. But ere closing the door behind him, he stuck out his head again and asked. "You will keep sitting here, won't you?"

Legolas nodded solemnly. "I wish to speak to Gandalf when he returns. I am greatly interested in tidings about Faramir. My curiosity was stirred when he told about that young and noble man."

A soft thud of the door was the only response he got. Legolas himself would have liked to join the Dwarf, but his inquisitiveness got the better of him. Never could he have lain in bed without knowing what was going on, what counsel had been given in the White Tower.

Suddenly the feeling of a hand lying on his shoulder startled the Elf and he turned around, only to see Gandalf standing behind him, a grim smile on his face.

"My excuse," the wizard said while placing himself next to his friend, "I did not wish to wake you, but I suppose that you wanted to hear about the matters Denethor and I talked about?"

"Waking me?" the Elf asked bewildered. "I did not sleep, or at least I did not want to sleep. You are right, however, I would wish to learn about your tidings."

"I have not much to tell," the wizard then muttered, "and what I have to tell, is not as pleasant as I hoped it to be. Nevertheless, you shall not be left out, for it is important that you are informed. I assume, you saw Faramir coming back, either?"

The Elf nodded. "So I did, although he came not as I wanted him to. Fear lay on the men who were with him and he himself was almost bathed in blood. Is he badly hurt? I did not think so, but I could not look at him closely."

"Nay," Gandalf replied, "that would have been evil indeed. This way at least some hope remains. If Faramir had been injured, this would have disappeared also. He got a few minor scratches and bruises, his men, of whom no one returned without serious wounds, are worse. Great battle had been fought at the bridges of Osgiliath and many were lost. He told that he had taken about four hundred warriors with him when setting out one moon ago. Less than thirty have returned, the others fell into the shadow when the Orcs were attacking, outnumbering the Gondorians by far. Alas, many good men have stayed on the battlefield and we will miss them greatly, for war will come to Minas Tirith and no aid has come so far. The Riders of Théoden might arrive by dusk tomorrow, at the earliest, but in truth I do expect them in the late night. Many hosts have been sent out by the Unnamed, and although this city has withstood all battles so far, I am not sure if it will not be overcome this time. Its walls are strong, but no wall will resist the fear the Black Riders, the Nazgûl, are causing. When they will appear – and they will, I know, for the Enemy thinks them to be his greatest benefit – even the bravest will fall and in their hearts the wish to flee will become more overpowering than anything else. Until now I have seen that too often, my dear friend: Those, of whom you believe that they rather prefer to be slaughtered than to run away, cast down their arms and leave that which they have sworn to defend. 

All the hope I despite held deep in my heart, has disappeared with the capture of Aragorn. He was meant to be the one who should keep the men together, looking upon him should have overcome the fear of the Nazgûl. The ancient lore and all tales are speaking of a 'king mightier than the Black Shadow and with his return the world of old shall be restored again'. Now we have to fight on our own, and the only thing that might keep this world – how we know it – from shattering apart, is, that two Hobbits have taken on the almost impossible task of destroying the One Ring."

For some heartbeats the Elf did not say anything, and then his voice could only be heard as a whisper, hardly to distinguish from the cracking of the flames. "Great guilt dwells in my heart. We were a fellowship of nine, our task was to protect each other. The Ringbearer departed to Mordor, the King of Gondor suffers in the hands of the Enemy and I am sitting in his city, a warm fire is flickering in front of me and if there was no battle to come, I would have been able to lead a wonderful life. I am wondering, whether I could have done anything to spare them from their fate. I wish, that I could have taken Aragorn's place – so that he could become the prophesied Envinyatar and that the free peoples would be unified under his crown."

The wizard was silent, in a gentle gesture he laid his palm on the Elf's knee. Now it was his turn to comfort his friend as Legolas had done it only some days before.

"'Fate', you said," Gandalf then murmured quietly, "and this tells everything. It was Aragorn's  destiny to suffer in Mordor and maybe he did it for our sake. Imagine, my dear Legolas, what there had been, if the Orcs had captured Frodo. The Ring would have been brought to Sauron and then the Shadow would have been inevitable. Did you never think that Aragorn had a purpose in his actions? Did you never think that it was not completely against his free will? Of course, to us it sounds foolishly. Never, you say, would he have believed his capture to be a way to save us all. But you have not known him for such a long time as I have. In the nights I have been thinking about him for long, and you know that in some moments I still cannot bear the images haunting me, but I believe it a possibility that he saw no other chance to let Frodo escape unscathed. I can give you no other comfort, but I might tell you, seeing him sacrificing himself for his friends helps me."

At length Legolas sighed softly, and gently Gandalf took his chin and turned the Elf's head towards him. "Rest some time, my friend," he said, "your soul is bearing too much pain. From tomorrow on we will merely think about the present, for nothing in the future must concern us. Great hosts are coming towards this city, and the only support we are able to offer Frodo, is, to keep the White Tower as long as it is possible. Our task is to withstand the Orcs, and never will we give up, even not when we will learn that the Ring has found its way back to its master."

Slowly the Elf nodded and rose with a graceful move. "Thank you," he suddenly said, "thank you for your comfort. I did not think it possible, but I feel better now."

Before Gandalf was able to reply, Legolas had already vanished. 

The wizard himself, though, could not find sleep in this night. Too deep was his concern and talking to Legolas had stirred up all the old memories about Aragorn. They had managed to fulfill many deeds, and perilous situations had been survived. 

The Man's gaze, full of friendship and gentleness, rested upon Gandalf for the whole night.

A/N: Anything that I should know? Please tell me!


	11. Doom is close at hand

A/N: As I promised: 11th chapter is up, and, as you'll see, we're finally getting to things. The fight in Minas Tirith is to be decided, and I've already made my mind up about the things happening in the next two or three chapters. But, I'm sorry, I must tell you that I won't be able to update until April 6th, since vacations have finally started and I'll be visiting a friend of mine for one and a half week. Nevertheless, enjoy this chapter and wait for the next coming on April 7th at the latest (it is half finished already)

Disclaimer: Bla,bla,bla… see chapter 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10 and decide which text you like best!

To all my reviewers: A huge, huge thanks!!! (And, Snitter in Rivendell, I haven't forgotten to read your story, but as I wrote above, I won't be at home for some time!)

_Doom is close at hand_

The thunder of the steps of many hundred men woke Legolas during the night, some hours after he had gone to sleep. It was loud and rang in his ears. 

'I wonder what has happened. Not many things would be able to cause such turmoil among the warriors of Minas Tirith. Are the Orcs already here? Alas, that would be evil! Far too less men are in the city and the Rohirrim will not arrive until night will have fallen another time!'

Dressing fast, the Elf left his room, only to find Gimli, the Hobbits and Gandalf standing around the table. Gathering sword and bow, the wizard and the Elf left their house to see what was going on. 

Warriors were running by, hastily dressed and armed. The night was still completely black, the waxing moon, hidden behind clouds full of snow, was not able to light the world. The stars had vanished from the sky and Legolas shivered. The Elf had never liked the darkness, but never before night had been filled with such terror. Every breath you took seemed to poison your body with new fear.

Quickly Gandalf and Legolas made their way over to a spot in the wall wherefrom they could look across the Pelennor Fields. Both were thinking about the Orcs and that battle had finally arrived. For long they had expected it, and Faramir's tidings from the day before had only confirmed their opinion. The Dark Lord would not delay much longer, the time for an attack could never be better. The Rohirrim were still far away, the bridges at Osgiliath had fallen, and many men had been slain defending them. Many good men, whom the Gondorians now lacked.

A chill wind was blowing through Gandalf's long white beard as he was leaning forward to get a better look. At first he could see nothing, the Fields were as dark as the surrounding night, he could not even make out the Anduin in its wide bed. But then the wizard frowned and he beckoned Legolas to step beside him.

The Elf gasped. To him the things Gandalf had only seen as small red spots at the far end of the Fields, were as clear as if they had been right in front of him. Thousands of torches were approaching there, being carried by even more Orcs whose faces glittered in the red flames. Yelling and shouting, they looked cruel and ready to fight, their thundering feet causing the ground they were walking on to groan. Never had it been their purpose to come in secrecy, under the protection of the night, they were too loud, too self-confident of their victory.

A great host was marching towards Minas Tirith, more Orcs than men who could have been summoned to the city. Most of them were armed with swords, but some had even bows and spears. They bore no helmets, their dreadful faces clearly visible. The torches cast a red shine onto them and in their eyes stood great bloodlust. Their only purpose was to kill, their master's wish was to conquer Minas Tirith, and his servants were eager to fulfill it. None of them wanted to become a victim of the Dark Lord's wrath.

"Battle has come," Gandalf softly sighed. "It would have been better, if this day had passed in silence, so that the Rohirrim would have been able to come to our aid. But now we have to see for ourselves. Get the others, Legolas, they shall not be spared, for hope lies in many strong warriors! Either we shall succeed and then the dead will be mourned in tale and song, or we shall die and then no one cares anymore about those who have died in a useless war."

The Elf nodded slowly. "As always you are right, Mithrandir," addressing the wizard with his Elvish name, "now great plans have lost their importance, and only courage and the bravery of each man – or Elf, Hobbit, Dwarf – counts. I will get our friends. You will go down to the great gate in the meanwhile?"

"So I shall do, for I want to see what tactic the Orcs will chose. Also I want to get Shadowfax, for the city is wide and its roads are long. Maybe the courage a wizard can give will be needed at more than one place!"

With these words the wizard and the Elf parted and none knew whether he would see the other again. Too uncertain was the fate of Minas Tirith and even if victory could be achieved, many would be slain, and fathers and friends would be lost.

Before long, the four remaining comrades were also on their way down to the uttermost gate. The Orcs had attacked as soon as the first had reached the city, but by now the Men could still hinder them from climbing over the walls or breaking the gate. Many arrows were shot from some elevated parts in the first and second circle, and they did not even need to be aimed for the Orcs were standing shoulder to shoulder and each hit. Hundreds of the cruel creatures had already fallen, but ever and ever new ones came to replace the dead. Thousands were streaming across the bridges, and by dawn the once green Pelennor Fields were a black mass of Orcs. 

It was almost a miracle that no one had managed to break the gates so far, but the Gondorians were fiercely defending themselves. Although many men had to be mourned by now and they could not be replaced, the fight ever went on. Gimli's axe had already beheaded more than thirty Orcs who had tried to climb over the walls and Legolas' bow served well. Each time the Elf bent it, an opponent fell into the dust and ceased to move. Even the Hobbits were not useless for they were able to cut many ropes the Dark Lord's servants had thrown over the wall to support their climb.

On Shadowfax Gandalf rode from wall to wall to give new hope to the defenders and with seeing the old wizard, sitting proudly on his gray steed, courage returned to the at times despairing men. 

Morning had come and passed again, but on this day the sun did not see the fighting men, for it stayed hidden and no real light passed through the clouds. Ever a gray shadow seemed to lie above the earth, and all the warriors who had hoped for a weakening in the Orcs' strength, were disappointed. No real difference could be made between day and night, and while Men got tired, the Orcs' attempts to break down the gate became fiercer and with each passing hour, it was more difficult to keep the walls free from the Enemy's creatures.

At length, after hours of desperate defense, the first gate was finally broken down and hundreds of Orcs swept into the city and started burning each house they saw. The bodies lying in the streets, those which the survivors had not been able to take with them, were humiliated, often beheaded or being dragged through the city. This sight was horror for the Men of Gondor, of which many had lost friends or kinsmen down there. 

Orcs were yelling with their cruel voices in the frightening tongue of Mordor, and not seldom the defenders wished that they would be dead already. The entire situation seemed too hopeless, and at the end most saw only death. It would not matter whether they died now or later, after all no one would survive, for the hosts of the Dark Land were far too numerous.

The Orcs ever grew weary and for each fallen two came forward to replace his gap. Ever and ever they tried to break down the second gate, and everyone knew that their attempts would be successful in some time. The uttermost one had been the most difficult to overcome, and the second and the third had not been made to defy such enemies. Only the fourth and the sixth showed real strength again, and, of course, the seventh. But each man knew that all the gates had to be defended, not only the ones that might be able to withstand for a longer time. If they would now withdraw behind the fourth, most the Orcs would be able to float into the city and then everything would be lost. Houses would be burned, animals slain and any supplies would be taken away. 

Slowly the hours were passing and finally night again began to settle over the city, but it got not much darker than it had been before. The sun had never appeared during the whole day, and the moon and the stars preferred not to witness the battle that would decide the fate of whole Middle-earth. 

Many men had been slain and even more were injured. But only those who might recover could be tended to, the others were only carried away from the place where they had lain and were brought to the sixth ring where the city's dead were to be buried. Many people died that night, and there was none in Gondor who had not lost one of his dearest. Tears, uncounted, were shed in these hours, and if there had not been the loud noise of the fight, the entire city would have been filled with wailing.

The steward, however, did not leave the White Tower, although Minas Tirith was about to fall and his people were dying. In grief and madness Denethor sat upon his chair, mourning his son Boromir and did take no interest in the battle. Naught would it have mattered to him, if lightning had stricken in this very moment and had killed him.

His younger son Faramir, on the other side, was the complete opposite of his father. But even being one of the bravest warriors, he alone could not withstand hundreds and thousands of Orcs. His sword slew many, and if his people caught sight of him, new courage filled their heart. He fought passionately, and his fury and wrath were great. During this day and night he earned great honor, greater than the one of any of his fathers before, and he was looked upon by each man with pride. 

"He is one of us," they laughed within all those sorrow and grief, "not one of those spoilt lords that other realms are said to have. Faramir, by your side we will fight and no Orc will manage to frighten us!"

And indeed, where he was, the Orcs were driven back and some fled in horror of this powerful warrior of Men. 

'Andúril would have been of great use now,' Gandalf pondered while riding through Minas Tirith. 'Faramir is having an unexpected effect towards the Orcs, but what would have been, if they had seen Anduril? The sword that once killed their master and that has been reforged again. Aragorn, this should have been your war and the hour of your victory! As a great leader you could have frightened the Orcs beyond believe. Alas, that we are on our own!'

But in the middle of the night, suddenly different hope filled the hearts of the Men. Loud trumpets were ringing from the north and the thunder of hundreds of hooves could be heard. 

"Rohan," it went through Minas Tirith in one cry, "Rohan has finally come!" 

Three thousand warriors King Théoden had brought with him, and with wrath they rode into the host of the Orcs. Sauron's servants were falling like flies, they were not trained in fighting with horsemen and the riders towered the Orcs by far. The swords of the Rohirrim had no difficulty to behead the dark creatures, only few of them suffered injuries. 

Victory suddenly seemed to be close again, and with faith the men on the walls began to attack the Orcs themselves and more of the Enemy's servants than warriors were slain. The Rohirrim raged against their foes and they knew no mercy. Even King Théoden himself took part in the fight and many enemies fell from his hand. Legolas had been right in Edoras: The lord had risen out of the shadow to a fair morning. 

Afterwards, though, the Elf would have liked it better, if he had been wrong. It was, as if he had had a premonition, since also the second part of his earlier sentence became true: Indeed the ride to Minas Tirith was the King's last deed and never would he return to the Golden Hall. 

Before December the 8th was dawning, unexpectedly a tall Orc was leaping on Théoden´s horse and, coming to sit right behind the king, he cut his throat with a long knife. None of the lord's surrounding guards had been able to hinder the Orc and with a loud triumphant cry he wanted to run away. Éomer, Théoden´s sister-son, though, would not tolerate such, and with great fury in his heart he pierced the Orc with his sword. Dead he fell down to the ground and would neither return to his home, wherever it was. 

Great grief arose among the Rohirrim and in these moments, when their attention had turned to their lord, many were slain. The king's guard placed themselves around the fallen ruler and tried to protect his body from his foes. Never would any Orc be able to humiliate their king.

"Théoden," they wailed, "great lord. You encouraged us to go to war and now you were among the first that were slain! Alas! Alas!"

And so it continued. With the death of their king, the Rohirrim seemed to have lost their luck in war, and in the following hours many of them fell. They were dragged down from their horses, and lying on the ground, their throats were cut or axes split their heads. Of three thousand brave riders which had arrived in the night, only five hundred came to see the next dawn. The sun sent its rays upon a battlefield where blood had colored the grass red and thousands of mingled bodies of Men and Orcs were covering the former green. 

Horses were running around madly, sometimes with their dead riders caught in the stirrups and horror befell everyone who had to see this. Never before had more men been slain than in this night. Two thousand and five hundred of the Rohirrim would not return to Edoras, and only little less had fallen in the Minas Tirith itself. By now the dead could not even be buried anymore, those who could be found, were gathered, and burned in a great fire. Their ash was blown away by the wind, and so they are still journeying across the lands they tried to save but found only death therein. 

The survivors fought on, not because they had still hope left, no, their only reason was that they did not want to give in to the Enemy. Each of the Men preferred dying in battle to be enslaved by the Unnamed and to live on as a shadow of their former being. Their expressions were grim while they were defending the third gate, the second had been lost shortly after King Théoden had fallen. The certainty of nearing death stood in their eyes and even Faramir and Gandalf knew that the siege of Gondor would soon come to its end – certainly an evil one.

The third gate was broken down just as the sun had reached its highest point and with it, half of the city had fallen. Only about one thousand men were still alive, but new hosts of Orcs were still streaming onto the Pelennor Fields. The Enemy seemed to have an inexhaustible supply of his warriors who did not care for their lives. They were focused on killing and none would have hesitated to die when he could take some of his opponents with him. With the passing hours the war-cries of the Men ceased, more and more replaced by yells of victory and some intelligible shouts telling of pain and death. The tongue of Mordor overcame the fair speech of men.

Suddenly, it was the first hour after noon, a shrill cry reached all ears and each, Man and Orc, lifted his head up into the air where it had come from. Piercing was its sound and filled the heart with despair. Shuddering, many fell down on their knees and would not get up anymore. Fearful were their whispers and grown men began to weep.

"Nazgûl," they cried, "now death is near!" 

And indeed, eight birdlike forms – but black, completely black – were flying across the sky. Cruel as death, darker than the ultimate night, they took away all of courage that had been left in the defenders, even some of the Orcs pressed their hands to their ears and fled. Too great was the terror the Black Riders caused in their hearts, and in the air there was a sudden foul smell as if the doors to Hell had opened and the dead had come out again. Each breath that was sucked in hurt in mouth and lunge burned like fire but brought no heat. Coldness enclosed the men's hearts and if they had not felt it beating, they would have believed that it had turned to stone. 

"Nazgûl," the very sound of that word made warriors leave their posts and flee to the higher circles. The fourth and the fifth gate were left departed, and by the sixth only some of the bravest were still gathering. Most had fled up to the seventh circle where the White Tower stood, still unharmed but there still was no sight of Denethor. The steward had chosen to stay inside, despair had overcome him long ago. Most of his men just crouched in some corner, too great was their terror of the Nazgûl. A few warriors, though, demanded Denethor to come out, to fight with them, to die with them, but their leader did not pay heed. In this dark hour he cast himself onto his sword and killed himself. Dead was his son Boromir, the other would follow him soon and Gondor would fall. The last of the stewards had failed. Life meant nothing for him anymore. Death was equally well

. 

His younger son, though, did not think about giving up. Never would he flee into death to escape peril and torture. He would fight bravely until the end. Faramir was among those who had remained at the sixth gate and with upcoming fear in his soul, he watched a dark shadow moving through a street below. It was riding on a high horse and bore a staff in his hands.

"Gandalf," he shouted, "Gandalf, come up! There is no need in sacrificing yourself! Alive you are of greater use!"

But the wizard paid no attention to the young man. Sternly and determined he bade Shadowfax go over the place just opposite the third gate and wait there. Faramir could not avert his eyes from his old friend. He seemed changed, mightier and more powerful. The strength there was in him had finally surfaced, and quietly he sat on his horse to welcome the intruders. 

For a long time no one came, and an expectant silence settled upon the city. The defenders could only hear the hammering of their hearts, and when after more than half an hour finally another sound came up, at first no one could tell any difference. Merely Shadowfax lifted his head and pricked up his ears. Gandalf did not move.

In through the gate, the ninth Black Rider rode. A great black shape against the fires beyond he loomed up, grown to a vast menace of despair. The Lord of the Nazgûl came in under the archway, that no enemy ever yet had passed, and most men on the sixth wall fled before his face.

"You cannot enter here," Gandalf said, and the huge shadow halted. "Go back to the abyss prepared for you! Go back! Fall into the nothingness that awaits you and your Master! Go!"

The Witch-king of Angmar flung back its hood, and behold! He had a kingly crown and yet upon no visible head it was set. The red fires shone between it and the mantled shoulders vast and dark. From a mouth unseen there came a deadly laughter.

"Old fool!" he said. "Old fool! This is my hour. Do you know not Death when you see it? Die now and curse in vain!" And with that he lifted high his sword and flames ran down the blade.

Now even the last remaining men fled from the wall and ran to the highest ring. Great wailing was among them, no one hoped that Gandalf would be able to turn down their enemy. 

"He is a wizard of old," they cried, "but who can withstand this dreadful wraith? None! Alas, death is near! Gondor will fall!"

In some warriors' eyes, though, no emotion could be perceived anymore. Neither fear nor hopelessness. Life had left them, overcome by terror, and they as well cast themselves down on their swords. Blood poured out of their chests and running down the streets, it mingled with the one of those who had died earlier. A red stream was washing away everything that once had covered the ways of Minas Tirith, and within this blood there lay hope and laughter, merry and joy. 

Gandalf, however, did not pay heed to the things going on. He stared at the invisible eyes of the Witch-king and their wills dueled. Neither wanted to make the first move, for still the Black Rider knew what might lay hidden in the old man, despite his challenging words. The wizard felt no fear and a strange certainty had won the better of him. 'Either death or victory', he had once said, in a time that seemed to have been ages ago, but in reality merely two days had passed since.

The Nazgûl opened his unseen mouth to let out another cry. It piercing his heart, the wizard tightened his grip onto his old Elven-blade. Glamdring had brought death to many foes and it would not fail him this time.

Spurring Shadowfax, Gandalf suddenly rode forward, attacking the Witch-King and a fight began of which would be told in tales and songs in generations long-after.

They battled long, their horses prancing, their swords seeking to wound the other. Strong were their wills, and none could gain advantage. Their blades got split, but did not fall from their hands. Cries were uttered and silent curses, and the Witch-King was the most difficult opponent Gandalf ever had to fight against. So cruel was he and death, that could pierce each heart, lay in unseen eyes. No man would have been able to resist the Nazgûl, and long ere the Witch-King had unsheathed his sword, he would have fled and crouched in a dark corner, hoping that the other would never find him. Only Gandalf the White, highest in his order, could summon enough strength to withstand the Nazgûl, and even wake a shadow of fear in the other's heart. The sky became dark, thunder was in the air and lightning stroke.  The steel crown of Angmar gleamed in its light, but not as a mortal crown would do. Its light was cold and could not illuminate the world around. Instead it seemed to create deeper darkness, coming right out of the Barad-Dûr.

Stroke by stroke their blades crashed, but for long none was failed by his strength. They ever fought on, an age seemed to pass, in which generations of kings had died and lived again. The gray day turned into evening, and still no one appeared to be close to success. Evil, though, the passing of time was thought by some courageous men who had dared to come down again and watch. Night draw near and night brought darkness. The Nazgûl would gain strength from it, for it was its greatest source and Gandalf was an intruder. Darkness tolerated no strangers, and the White would fail ere the next dawn would wake the world from its sleep. Even if he gathered all his power and might, he would not last until the first hour had passed. Doom was at hand and everyone knew it. All that could have been done had been tried, but success had not come. Gondor was about to fall and the Dark Lord would gain rule over the world. Evil had overcome the good and not even the mightiest among the White could turn down the Shadow anymore.

Night came, and indeed, as soon as complete darkness had fallen, the Witch-King at once gained advantage and Gandalf was hit by a stroke from his blade. Shadowfax stumbled, whinnied and soared. Some effort was needed by the wizard to stay on horseback, and for a moment he paid no attention to the Nazgûl. A dreadful cry came from the Black's unseen mouth and he plunged forward. 

His blade of fire and flames stroke the wizard across his chest and he fell. A dull thud was the only sound as Gandalf's body hit the ground, but a high clink was heard when Glamdring fell from his hand and landed on the road. 

The Witch-King dismounted, laughing cruelly. Shadowfax stood nearby, but Gandalf had not been able to jump up him again. Deliberately slow, the Nazgûl drew closer to the fallen wizard and lifted his blade. Helplessly Gandalf lay in front of him and could do nothing to prevent his death. No spell would be able to hinder the Black Rider to kill him and then, with his life, the Third Age would abruptly come to its end. 

After his fall at the end of the Second, Sauron had now been seeking to regain rule over the world for more than three thousand years – first secretly, then with an open display of power. The Fourth Age would become the darkest and most grievous, never would the sorrow leave Middle-earth again.

Not wanting to stare at the invisible face, Gandalf closed his eyes and waited for the final blow. 

It came never. Instead of killing the wizard, the Nazgûl suddenly let out a shrill cry, his cruel voice filled with fear and dread. His sword fell to the ground, while its owner kept on yelling, and sudden hope returned to the heart of Men. Some peaked around the corners, seeing the Witch-King bent over in agony. 

The moon came out of the clouds and sent his light to Minas Tirith. No longer did it seemed cold, but was welcomed by all warriors. Stars appeared and the sky lost its total blackness, turning to a dark blue.

The Nazgûl black cloak faded to gray and the steel crown glided from his head. The flames running down the blade ceased and with them the sword vanished into thin air. Still crying, he leaped onto his horse again and righted himself in his saddle. Whinnying, the black steed tried to get rid of his master and soared high. The Nazgûl, though, spurred it into a quick gallop and rushed out through the open gate. However, the sound of hooves ceased ere it had reached the uttermost ring and never was such an evil creature seen in Middle-earth again.

A/N: Anything that I should know? Please leave a review, despite you know that the story will continue!


	12. Faramir, steward fo Gondor

A/N: So, I'm finally back from vacationing, and, I must say, it was very productive. So expect the next chapters follow soon. This is just a very short one, so to say the "gap-filler" between the fight in Minas Tirith and the …..  – I will not give it away – but the thing with Aragorn. Yes, we're finally coming to it!!

Enjoy reading! Please review! Huge thanks to all who've done it so far!!!

Disclaimer: The same as in each chapter.

_Faramir, steward of Gondor_

__

Unbelieving, Gandalf slowly stood up, brushing the dust off his cloak. Men appeared beside him, surrounding the wizard, all staring down the way the Nazgûl had taken. No one wanted to trust his eyes anymore: The Lord of the Black Riders, the Witch-King had vanished from the world.

Faramir laid his hand on the wizard's arm. "Can you believe that?" he whispered quietly. "Why did he flee? There was no cause for it!"  

Gandalf turned his head and watched the young man intently. "I hardly dare to say it," he murmured, "but the only reason I can think of, is, that maybe Frodo fulfilled his task in the very second ere the Nazgûl wanted to kill me. You know, Faramir, Sauron's life is bound to the Ring and all of his servants are connected to the Dark Lord. See, even the Orcs are running away, terror is in their eyes!"

And indeed. All the Orcs had turned and fled from the city. They left behind men slain, houses burned, but no one thought of staying. In a confused mass they ran away, in all directions, and not even the river was able to stop them. Many leaped into its waters and drowned, the others who had found another way to escape fled eastward – to Mordor. Within some minutes, the city and the Pelennor Fields were free of Sauron´s servants, the only thing that remained of them, were the thousand bodies covering the grass and the streets of Minas Tirith. The Nazgûl in the air had disappeared, either, and the wind carried away their foul smell. The air soon was clean again and the chill breeze refreshed the surviving warriors still surrounding Gandalf.

Quietly as statues they stood, wonder was in their eyes, but slowly they seemed to realize. One began to shout out of pure joy, and, after seconds, the others joined in. They embraced each other, clashed their spears and swords, clapped their hands and wept. So great was their joy that some could not hold back their tears and within all this laughter, they were running down their cheeks.

"Gondor has not fallen!" they cried, "the Dark Lord is overthrown!" 

And so they went on, running through the streets, fetching their families out of their hiding-places. For hours the only emotion in Minas Tirith was joy, none thought about the fallen and the future. Only when dawn came, the surviving warriors gathered around the White Tower, waiting for Gandalf and Denethor to come out. They still did not know that the steward had not lived to see their victory.

The wizard and Faramir had gone to the Tower as soon as the first shock of triumph had worn off. Inside the High Court, just in front of the throne, they found the body of Denethor lying on the ground, his sword still in his hand. Blood was spilt on his mail-shirt and the golden rod of the stewards lay beside him. Faramir knelt down and gently took the father's hand. Silently he wept and Gandalf did not dare to disturb the son's grief. For still Faramir had loved his father, by far not as deeply as his brother Boromir had, but nevertheless there had been feelings for the old man in his heart. Never had he treated him like a son, had even wished that he had been dead instead of Boromir, but in the hour of his death, he forgave his father. Slowly he loosened the cold fingers from the sword, laying it aside. Then he took the blanket Gandalf had brought and covered his father's body. Faramir´s face was stern as he rose again, lifting the golden rod from the floor. 

"Now you are the steward of Gondor," the wizard softly said. 

Remotely Faramir nodded. "A duty I never wanted to have. Alas, that Boromir has fallen. My brother should have become our father's heir!"

Gently Gandalf laid his palm on the other's shoulder. "Fate would have it thus," he said, and neither you nor I can change it."

"But I am sure," the wizard went on, "that you will not fail. Your people love you and this often makes things easier. Unfortunately, however, I have to leave in the morning, Faramir, so I will not be able to be at your side for long. An important errand awaits me and I also have to fulfill my duty!" While speaking the last sentence, Gandalf´s expression had become grim and a shadow of grief had appeared on his face.

"Which errand?" Faramir asked softly, noticing the change. "What is so important that you have to leave the place of our final victory?"

"Naught that belongs here," Gandalf tried to smile, but sadness overshadowed his attempt.

The young steward did not question him further, never would he have urged the wizard to reveal things he did not want to share. Not many men his age would have been so understanding, and hardly any Gandalf would have trusted to lead a people, but he considered Faramir differently, and he knew that Gondor would get a good steward.

"Now," Gandalf said when he had heard the noise of the warriors gathered on the lawn in front of the High Court, "talk to your people. They are waiting outside and they have a right to know that Denethor has perished and what will happen further. You can be proud of them, Faramir, and I am proud of you. You have been brave in this night and I saw, that there could be no better steward. Do not change, my friend!"

The young man silently looked at the wizard. He, though, could think of nothing to reply and so he finally turned and made his way over to the door. Slowly Faramir opened it and stepped on the threshold. At once shouts of joy arose among the waiting warriors and would not cease. The new steward beckoned them to calm down and their whispers dying down, his men did what he requested. An expectant silence settled on them and Faramir was licking his lips nervously. For years now he had been a captain of the hosts of Gondor, but never before had he been in such a situation: Having to tell the men that their steward had killed himself while they had been fighting to defend his city. 

Gandalf quietly stepped beside him but did not utter any reassuring word. Glancing at the wizard, Faramir finally began to speak.

"Men of Gondor," he said in a loud voice, "I am proud of you! Without you our city had fallen ere dusk, and our women and children had been slain!"

Great cheer arose at this, but Faramir again bade them to be quiet.

"Unfortunately," he went on in a grim voice, "I have to tell you that our Lord did not survive the battle. He will be brought to the Silent Houses and I ask you to honor him although his death was not very respectable: He killed himself with his own sword. I am deeply sorry to have to tell you this, but also I hope you will not remember my father as a coward! Certainly he was none, but he had gotten old and my brother's death confused his mind. Do not forget the years he achieved great renown for Gondor and Minas Tirith!"

Silent whispers ran through the gathered man. This had they expected least. "Denethor has slain himself," they said, "what an end for such leader!" 

"Fear overcame him," some murmured, "we should not be angry, for many of us were on the brink of despairing. He was old and grieved, his son's death took away his will to live. Let us forgive him."

Unmoving, Faramir stood beside Gandalf and listened to what his ears could catch. But although not each man thought that Denethor had had a right to kill himself, he did not regret telling them. In his whole life he had hated every lie, and as often as it had been possible, Faramir had said the truth, even if it was to his disadvantage. 

Suddenly something cold hit his head and Faramir lifted his eyes to look up. A slow smile spread over his face: Snow was falling down from the sky, winter had finally come. Quietly the flakes were falling, covering the city in a white coat. For days and weeks it had been cold, and thus the snow did not melt at once when coming down to the ground. And with the snow, peace came back to Minas Tirith. The Pelennor Fields, soaked with blood, turned to white, covering the ugly red. Bodies of men and Orcs disappeared under a soft blanket, as if already buried. 

"Faramir, our steward!" The cry, first uttered by one man, went through the crowd and all joined in. "Faramir, we will follow you! Lead us! For your praise we will live and die!"

And laughter found its way into the young man's eyes and he smiled. 

"Do not think of dying again," he cried. "We have survived and regained our life. From this year on, this day – December 9th – shall be a day of celebration and feasts. Gondor has not fallen and everyone shall remember that as long as this world exists!" Swiftly he then went down the few steps separating him from his people, and many of the warriors embraced him tightly. Further blood stained his mail and if one had not known that the new steward had stayed unhurt, he would have believed him to be deadly wounded. 

After some minutes of laughing with his men, Faramir glimpsed back at the threshold. Gandalf had disappeared and had left behind no sign. The young man sighed heavily. 'What errand he has, I would wish to know. His expression became grim when he spoke of it, and sadness appeared in his eyes. In the hour of the greatest victory ever gained in Middle-earth, he was overcome by gloom. Great grief must dwell in his heart!'

But soon Faramir could not think about the old wizard anymore. Too busy was he with trying to put Minas Tirith back in order. Many things had to be done, tasks had to be fulfilled. The dead had to be buried and for long, sorrow did not leave the city. Each family had lost at least one of their male members: Children had to grow up without fathers, husbands left wives behind and brothers would never again play with their siblings. Wailing arose among the survivors, and only for some graves could be dug, if each of the fallen had gotten a tomb, no green would be seen on the Pelennor Fields anymore. 

In the next days the wind carried away the ashes of many proud fighters.

A/N: Anything I should know? Please tell me!


	13. A duty to fulfill

A/N: So, there it is: Chapter 13. You'll soon get to hear about Aragorn, I promise!!! But I have to follow my storyline, and that tells me that you'll have to wait just a little longer. 

Enjoy!!!! Please review!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. The song is from "The Return of The King" – can't remember which chapter, and the other one – "Elbereth" – is taken from various places throughout the whole book!

_A duty to fulfill_

Smiling sadly while Faramir was being praised among his men, Gandalf quietly left the High Court. For him war was not over yet and he still had a task to fulfill. A duty that lay heavily on his heart, and he would have given everything, even his life, to change the past events that there would be no need to leave Minas Tirith now. 

'Faramir and the others deserve laughter and joy,' the wizard pondered as he went down to the sixth circle, where Shadowfax had remained after their fight with the Nazgûl. 'The Black Breath is defeated, but I, however, can feel no relief. I promised that I would come to bring you home, Aragorn, my friend. I did not forget about that. Never could I bear the thought that you would lie among those Orcs until not even dust would remain. Do you know that I still hope? Yes, you heard right. I still do have hope in my heart! Maybe in throwing the Ring into the fires of Mount Doom, Frodo surprised your torturer and Sauron had not killed you yet. He wanted to torment you cruelly, I am sure, and for that he needed a lot of time. May it be, that he has spent too many hours with thinking about new ways to hurt you! For almost thirteen days now have you been in his hands, and I guess, that the Dark Lord knew many kinds of torment. Greatest pain he wanted to inflict on you, and that he only could achieve by torturing you slowly. Alas, what am I talking? I am an old fool! I should not hope! Despair would overcome me at the sight of your body, cold and without life! I must not be tempted!'

The soft light of the rising sun engulfed Shadowfax still standing patiently at the place where Gandalf had left him, making his coat shimmer golden. His reins hung down off his neck and he did not move until the wizard approached him, whispering soft words. Only then the gray steed lifted his head and whinnied quietly. He had missed his rider and was glad at his return.

"Shadowfax, my beloved horse, I have come back," Gandalf murmured, taking up the stallion's bridle. "I hope that you will keep with me, even when I will lead you into the Dark Land. Sauron has perished but still his breath will linger there for many thousand years. Do not leave me!"

The horse again whinnied softly and rubbed his nostrils on Gandalf´s shoulder, nudging him gently.

Suddenly the wizard's attention was caught by a swift movement to his left, and quickly he turned his head to the dark corner where it had come from. 

"I knew that I would find you here," a soft voice stated calmly and Gandalf almost breathed a sigh of relief.

"Legolas, what are you doing here?" he then demanded to know. It would have suited him better, if no one had seen him leaving. "Where are Gimli and the Hobbits? Why are you not with them?"

The Elf quietly made his way over to the wizard until he was facing him, only then he answered. "Gimli, Merry and Pippin are safe. I gave them into the care of some young Men who promised to look for them. They survived the battle unscathed, and, I am afraid, Gimli slew more Orcs than any of us. He ran through the streets, wielding his axe as if madness had befallen him. The Hobbits, though," Legolas laughed gently, "seemed to have appeared of no importance to the Orcs. Although being careless for one single time, none paid heed to them and ran by. Luckily, I might add. And for myself, I tried to shot as much Orcs as I could, but I do believe, that you have served the city better." Another light smirk of the Elf. 

"But now I came with a different purpose than your praise," he then went on, becoming solemn again. "Gandalf, I know what you intend to do and I certainly would do the same, if I were you. I, however, ask you to take me with you. Aragorn holds a great place in my heart and I could not life with the thought that I had left him alone. Please, let me accompany you. Maybe we shall bear his fate together less heavily!"

The wizard sighed softly, lowering his eyes to the floor. His reply was almost intelligible. "Maybe you are right," he murmured. "I had wished for someone that would go with me, but there was none I dared to ask. Come, my friend, let us bring Aragorn home to the city that was actually his! He shall not stay in the Nameless Land. Get your horse and let us leave then. I do not want to be seen by all people! It is better when few know of our journey."

Smiling grimly, Legolas turned his head and whistled softly. Arod slowly trotted towards them, as well bearing reins. "I deem, you believed in my agreement," Gandalf stated sarcastically ere mounting Shadowfax. The Elf did not reply. Wrapping himself into his cloak, he leaped on Arod and spurred it to follow the wizard. 

Unseen by all they left Minas Tirith and took on their way towards Barad-Dûr, the Dark Tower, rising in the heart of Mordor. The once frequently used road to Osgiliath would lead them right there, passing Minas Morgul, Cirith Ungol and Mount Doom, the blackest places in the Black Land.

Snow continued to fall and a gentle but chill wind made the travelers shiver. Slowly their horses bore them away from the White Tower, but suddenly a distant voice, flying with the wind, reached their ears. It sounded sad, and spoke of grief and sorrow. A young man was singing a song for those who had fallen, moving each heart which heard it. Legolas turned his head to look back and there he stood: On the third wall, a warrior clad with mail bloodstained, his helmet in his right hand, in his left a spear, the black hair streaming in the wind. Tears were running down his face, and almost choking he sang with anguish in his heart.

_We heard of the horns in the hills ringing, _

_the swords shining in the South-kingdom._

_Steeds went striding to the Stoningland_

_as wind in the morning. War was kindled._

_There Théoden fell, Thengling mighty,_

_to his golden halls and green pastures_

_in the Northern fields never returning,_

_high lord of the host. Harding and Guthláf,_

_Dúnhere and Déorwine, doughty Grimbold,_

_Herefara and Herubrand, Horn and Fastred,_

_fought and fell there in a far country:_

_in the Mounds of Mundburg under mould they lie_

_with their league-fellows, lords of Gondor._

_Neither Hirluin the Fair to the hills by the sea,_

_nor Forlong the old to the flowering vales_

_ever, to Arnach, to his own country_

_returned in triumph; nor the tall bowmen,_

_Derufin and Duilin, to their dark waters,_

_meres of Morthond, under mountain-shadows._

_Death in the morning and at day's ending_

_lords took and lowly. Long now they sleep_

_under grass in Gondor by the Great River._

_Gray now as tears, gleaming silver,_

_red then it rolled, roaring water:_

_foam dyed with blood flamed at sunset;_

_as beacons mountains burned at evening;_

_red fell the dew in Rammas Echor._

The voice trailed away and only the gentle howl of the chilly wind remained in Legolas and Gandalf's ears. 

"So many people died," the Elf murmured silently, "so many whose time had not come yet."

Gandalf turned his eyes on Legolas, riding to his left. For some moments his gaze rested on his friend ere he replied. "Fate would have it not different, Legolas," he said calmly, "and be comforted: For those gave their lives to protect the ones they loved. I suppose you would not have acted differently, if you had to choose between sacrificing yourself or seeing your father and brothers being killed. There are great dissimilarities between Elves and Men, I know, but both can think unselfishly, and in some way mortals do fear less to die, for they know that death is their fate and it awaits them sooner or later. Believe me, those warriors died in pain but also with the hope that their fall might have aided to their city's rescue! Believe me, for nothing else can bring peace to your heart!" 

Nodding wearily, the Elf tried to banish the images of all those slain warriors. For almost three thousand years now had he dwelt in Middle-earth and battles had he seen before, but still it grieved him deeply. Being an Elf, he loved the fair and hated the evil, for it hurt his soul and his inner bond, connecting him with everything surrounding him, was disturbed. Slowly, though, he managed to turn his mind towards the way lying in front of them.

Their road led them to the north-east, to Osgiliath, where the first Orc-host had come from and where hopefully the bridges across the Anduin would be free to cross again. The few trees framing their way bent their branches and twigs in sadness, often touching the riders' heads as if wanting to tell them of their sorrow. A long time would it need until the once fair and peaceful fields would again be green, without anything that reminded of the thousands that had died there. But the stony walls of Minas Tirith would never forget those who had sacrificed themselves for their sake.

For the first time in long and dark days, the sun could be seen as it was rising in the east. Still, gray mists were blocking its clear rays from bringing light to the Black Land beneath, but wherever it managed to shine through the snowy clouds, the mountains, the trees and the earth gleamed in vivid colors. No longer was the world black and dark and gloomy, but yellow, red and golden returned. The white peak of Mount Mindolluin shimmered like a golden crown, as if worn by a king, and even the highest pinnacles of Minas Tirith shone in the light of the rising sun. The softly falling snow covered the evil that had befallen the lands, white defeated black. Life, however, despite all efforts, did not win completely: Often the innocent flakes were stained with red blood and looking like pools, they indicated the places where men or Orcs had died.

While the first morning of a world without Sauron was passing, the two riders came closer to the bridges of Osgiliath. With each step their mounts were taking, the devastation and destruction became more visible and cruel. The Orcs had ravaged there, turned the grassy plain into black wasteland. Trees rose into the sky, burnt and cut, some merely stretching the bare wood over Gandalf and Legolas' heads as if wanting to reach for them with ghostly fingers. 

Anduin roared in their ears, its waters ever flowing southward, unheeding the events that had happened at its banks. The water that had seen it was in the Sea right now where it had mingled with unscathed blue, without any burden of dread and fear. 

Bodies of Men and Orcs were covering the grass, not a single one had been buried, for the Dark Lord's servants did not even care for their own kin. Bloodstained swords were still grasped in warriors' hands, arrows pointed to the sky, rising out of red chests, horses were lying there with spears in their sides, and all over the foul smell of death poisoned the air. Each breath hurt in Legolas' lungs and made him cough. Closing his eyes to small slits, he rode through the battlefield, wanting to block out all emotions. 

Luckily the bridges across the river were still intact, for even the Orcs must have been so intelligent not to destroy them. After all, they had needed them as links between Gondor and Mordor. Leading Shadowfax slowly over the river, Gandalf went first, followed by Legolas who had a hard time to make Arod doing what he wanted it to. The horse was afraid of the swirling waters beneath its feet, roaring loudly, but in the end, with a comforting Elvish song in his ears, the steed also reached the other bank safely.

"Now we are in Ithilien," Gandalf sighed quietly after Legolas had finally come to stand beside him. "This land once was named 'the Garden of Gondor', for it was greenest and fairest and most beautiful. In peaceful times, the Kings of Old, and also the stewards with their families, spent their summers here, preferring the beauty of the woods to the stony walls of their city. But alas, in the past years, the Shadow sneaked upon Ithilien and turned it into a place not different from others, all of its fairness was lost. The blackness, however, did not withdraw and so the animals have disappeared, leaving the forests lifeless and dead. Flowers ceased to blossom in summers, and leaves and needles fell from the trees. Now only the bare wood remains to remind us of a time in which the land was fair and was merely surpassed by the places where Elves dwelt and still dwell."

"It indeed must have been beautiful, when merely Rivendell and Lothlórien were greater than these forests," Legolas replied in a low voice, "but I see, that the old spirit has fled and not even memory stayed behind. Despite the sun, it is dark here and the wind is cold in my heart. A chill that does not come from snow or winter, but from a malice that has lived here for too long."

"I can feel it either," Gandalf murmured while spurring Shadowfax into a light trot, following the road to Minas Morgul, "but we must not let it harm us, for Sauron has vanished and thus its source has disappeared. Many years, however, will it take, the children of Men will grow old, ere these lands will be free of the Black Breath again."

Hardly saying anything, the wizard and the Elf rode through Ithilien. Their surroundings were too depressing to utter more than a few words and also, with each step of their horses, they came closer to the Dark Land. The mountains were rising in front of their eyes, and still they were dark, of black stone and no tree grew on their flanks. Jagged and steep rose their slopes into the midday sky, high and invincible. Only a few roads led into Mordor and in times of war, each of those had been guarded heavily. Hundreds of Orcs had watched the Black Gate at Morannon in the north, and never had anyone dared to try the stairs of Cirith Ungol. Minas Morgul would have to be passed, and it was said, that even greater evil waited in the heights of the mountains. Creatures out of the shadows of the past, having come to earth so long ago that even the Elves did not remember. Never was the name of Cirith Ungol muttered in any house of Men and all other people chose to forget.

Slowly the once green forests of Ithilien passed and they drew nearer to Minas Morgul. Black and dreadful the Dark City was built on the western slopes of the mountains, almost exactly opposing Minas Tirith, the White City. Towers rose into the sky, they looked like teeth in a foul mouth. Slowly was the afternoon wearing to its end, but even the setting sun could not bring light to the walls. Gates looked like the entrance to Hell, and Legolas would not have endured it to walk through them and enter the city. In Minas Morgul the Black Breath was still alive, it could be felt that once the Lord of the Nazgûl had lived there with his dreadful Orcs. The Witch-King's presence had filled the air with terror, and even his slaves could hardly bear to be near him. The walls had taken in its foul smell, nothing remained of the once great city. It had become a place of fear and death. Whinnying and snorting, Arod and Shadowfax passed Minas Morgul, Gandalf and Legolas had drawn their hoods over their faces. None of them was able to lay eyes onto the Black City, as if being afraid that the shadows would come to life again.

Their journey through Mordor would be difficult, and each of them would have to overcome their own terror. They had passed Minas Morgul, but still the stairs of Cirith Ungol waited for them, and at the end of the road they would have to enter the Dark Tower, seat of Sauron. Legolas shivered at merely thinking that, yet he would never have dared to leave his friend in the Enemy's arms. He had promised to Gandalf that he would accompany him and this promise the Elf would keep. 'Also, Frodo and Sam have survived in this country at least for such a long time to fulfill their quest, to throw the Ring into the Fires of Mount Doom. So, why should a child of the light, an Elf, not be able to ride through Mordor after Sauron has vanished? Our foe has disappeared and only its remnants are scaring us. But we must not let it touch our courage!'

These words, however, were spoken more easily than they were done. Still, fear and thread were able to creep through Legolas' thick cloak and enclosed his heart, for the land did not get lighter and with the night sweeping in from the east, the chill wind grew in strength and brought new snow with it. In these moments, cold and in fear, the Elf admired Gandalf who rode in front of him. The wizard's tall form seemed to withstood the wind, upright and calm he sat in his saddle, appearing undisturbed by weather and blackness. Legolas, though, could not see that his expression was stern, his eyes unfocused while his mind was wandering in some unknown paths. Again Gandalf was thinking about Aragorn, but he was also preoccupied with his surroundings. He was not as unimpressed as Legolas thought him to be, Mordor caused great trouble in him. Everything was filled with dread, each stone on their way, each breath that found way into their lungs and even the stars were not as bright as they should be. An almost impenetrable wall seemed to block their light from coming to the Dark Land, merely a faint shimmer was reaching the evil ground. 

And also the snow that had begun to cover the dead in Gondor and in Ithilien did not come to Mordor. It had ceased to fall with the passing of Minas Morgul, almost seeming that the land was of too a great malice to have the white cover it. It was as if the terror and the fear, the thread and the pain should not be forgotten by throwing a blanket over it. Snow should not bring oblivion to this evil land.

Night had finally fallen, just ere the two riders had arrived at the stairs of Cirith Ungol. Blackness engulfed them now fully and Gandalf halted Shadowfax at the first step. Anxiously Legolas waited for the wizard to decide whether they would continue to go on or if they would rest. Both was equally well and equally bad. The Elf neither wanted to climb the stairs in total darkness nor to spend the night below it. Steeply it rose up into the mountains and without seeing anything, it was likely that one of the horses would trip and fall, possibly killing its rider, but on the other side Legolas knew exactly that he would not be able to rest this night. His mind was too bothered – with Aragorn, with Mordor – and he was longing for Gandalf's decision.

After a time that had seemed like an eternity to the Elf, the wizard finally had made up his mind. He had taken the same considerations as Legolas had thought about, and slowly dismounting, Gandalf said:

"We will rest here for tonight. To climb the stairs would be too perilous in this darkness, and I think that we both are in need for sleep, for tomorrow we will reach the Barad-Dûr and there we might have to use all of our strength… We might not find pleasant things there." A wry smile followed the wizard's words.

Nodding, Legolas also leaped from Arod's back, then spread his blanket on the cold and stony ground. "We will not light a fire tonight, will we?" he asked after he had settled down. "There is no wood to gather and we did not have time to take some with us from Minas Tirith or Ithilien."

Gandalf merely shook his head. "It will become cold, I guess, but we have to rest for some hours. We may continue our way ere the sun will rise tomorrow! We do not dare delay!"

The last sentence had been spoken with such determination and finality that Legolas did not inquire further. Quietly he ate some of the food they had brought with them, offering Gandalf some either, but the wizard refused it. He just was not hungry. Instead he got out his pipe, for smoking always brought calm to his mind. Gandalf settled back against a huge black rock guarding the staircase and inhaled deeply. 

'We do not dare delay' he repeated, while Legolas had cast himself down and appeared to wish to get some rest. 'Any tiniest bit of hope of finding Aragorn alive would be lost. Each second we would arrive later might cost him his life, if he is lying in Barad-Dûr, bleeding, unconscious, left without food and water. Still, the most likely is, that we will only find his body, tortured until death finally relieved Aragorn from his excruciating pain.'

Neither Gandalf nor Legolas, who was not sleeping at all, could imagine what cruel methods Sauron had found to torment their friend in the most malicious way. Blurred pictures of whipping, beating ran through their minds, but each knew that kinds of torture had been used by the Dark Lord which were beyond their worst imagination. No living being that merely had a tiny bit of good in his soul would find such joy in killing a man so slowly. Once or twice the wizard had spoken to some people who had been tormented and released again, and the things they had told about, had been haunting him since Legolas had shown him Aragorn's necklace. 

'I have never before thought, that people can endure so much pain and hurt ere they die,' one of these men had said, 'for days and weeks they can make your struggle last, and they do not even injure you badly. You never loose consciousness and you never die. The whole day they are torturing you, and you hurt, you just hurt. Everything in your soul is consumed by this pain, and your mind tries to wander off but cannot. You are feeling each blow, each strike, and when they finally release you, the pain does not wear off. Throughout the whole night – or the whole day – you are suffering and then they come to get you again. No water are you given for days until you are screaming and begging for it, and then you get three sips at the most, only to increase your longing. At first you feel relieve when finally the precious liquid touches your lips, your tongue, your throat, but ere you have drank enough just to satisfy your worst need, they take it away from you again. You beg, you scream, you try to strike them, but they are merely laughing at you. And then you are being whipped again. On your back, on your feet, on your chest. There is absolutely no place on your body they spare. No, each part is carefully 'tended to', and you cannot even lie down without pain. Sleep will hardly come and your mind gets fuzzy. Imagines from 'before' torture you with laughter and joy, and when you wake, you are lying in darkness and pain. And then they come again…'

Abruptly Gandalf shook his head to banish these thoughts out of his mind. "I must not despair," he murmured, hardly audible. "Maybe Aragorn is not dead yet, or if he is, maybe his death was not as painful as I imagine it right now. My friend is strong and can endure a lot."

The hours were dragging on in this night, and it was black and dark and the stars could not illuminate their surroundings. Gandalf and Legolas felt both relieved when finally a faint shimmer appeared in the far east. The sun was announcing a new day and none of the two travelers knew, what things would await them until dusk would come again. Quickly they packed their gear, then, mounting their horses, they took on the steep and high stairs of Cirith Ungol. Sometimes they even had to lead their steeds for these could not have proceeded with additional weight on their backs. A difficult and strenuous way was this, but during all these hours until they reached the peak about two hours ere noon, none of the foul creatures that were said to dwell here appeared and the two riders were both left unscathed. If things had been hiding here once, they had left, for maybe the darkness of Mordor had lessened too much after Sauron's fall.

Finally Gandalf and Legolas reached the peak of Cirith Ungol, the sun almost straight above them. It sent its rays down to earth but still it could not bring light to the vast black plains now stretching in front of their eyes. Dark wasteland, with innumerable fires burning and casting red shadows on the ground. A foul smell lay in the air, but no living being could be seen. No Orc was moving in this blackness, but some hours away, a huge shadow rose into the sky. Mount Doom, Orodruin in the speech of old. Flames were raging on its peak, lava flowing down its slopes. Red and bright orange colored the sky above it, a fire that set the horizon into flames and was a sign of the malice of this land even many leagues away. Such evil was claiming Legolas and Gandalf's heart at looking down into the plains of Mordor that they could hardly believe that Frodo and Sam, merely two Hobbits, had managed to fulfill their quest of destroying the One Ring.

"They must have had a great heart," Legolas stated quietly, taken aghast by such dread.

The wizard nodded, gesturing to Mount Doom. "The fires are burning brighter than ever before, melting the Ring and defeating the evil. I wish that I would know whether the two Hobbits are still alive! In once a stormy night, I bade Gwaihir, the Windlord, to take them back to Minas Tirith as soon as Frodo had fulfilled his task, shall they either live or be dead. Alas, if they have died in saving Middle-earth! May they have reached Minas Tirith unscathed and may great praise be sung in song and tale!"

"Great have their deeds been indeed, and I wish to hear about them. An evil fate would it be, if they had sacrificed themselves! They were such merry persons, and the journey with them brought joy to my heart! I always had to think about the insurmountable difficulties they would be facing, but looking at Frodo who bore his burden with strength in his heart and mind, made me feel better. Their task seemed to be not as insuperable as before. I deem, Aragorn felt so either. As you know, I have often talked to him in the middle of the night and we discussed many different matters. But now, let us not waste our time with speaking of things that were!"

With these words the Elf spurred Arod, Shadowfax following the other horse willingly. Their way slowly led down again, winding along gentle slopes. Cirith Ungol had been the highest point in the mountain range bordering Mordor, being difficult to climb up and down, protecting the Dark Land against intruders. In the times of the Unnamed it been guarded by the Teeth of Mordor, two towers rising at the peak of the mountain, now lying in ruins as if an earthquake had destroyed them. Black stones, broken, were the only sign that remained of that post high up in the sky.

Occasionally they passed dead Orcs while riding down from Cirith Ungol, the bodies getting more and more with each minute their way lasted. Reaching the plains at noon, they were indeed framing their road, often hindering their way, and their blood had colored the stones in deepest black. They seemed to have died in the place they had stood in the very moment when Frodo had cast the Ring into the fires of Mount Doom, their movements, their facial expressions frozen, some had still food in their claws, mouths were open as if wanting to finish the sentence they had begun. If these bodies had not been Orcs, Legolas would have laughed and admired the craft of the artists who had created such a sculpture gallery.

But with the things being like they were, he had no reason to be joyful. A foul smell of death was choking every single pleasant thought, with no way to escape to memories of times that had been before, since then his mind always turned back to Aragorn, and images of pain and torture were haunting him. While leading the Fellowship to Lothlórien after Gandalf's fall in Moria, the Elf had seen how deep the Man could hide his anguish in his soul. Merely in some moments when he had thought that no one was watching him, Aragorn's eyes had betrayed the grief he had been feeling, but otherwise he had feigned the strong leader who had not been troubled by the wizard's fall and whose thoughts were only aimed at taking the Ringbearer to the safety of the Golden Wood. But Legolas knew exactly, that Aragorn's feelings were as deep as his own, if not deeper, and that not even he could stand excruciating and terrible pain for an unending time ere he gave in. 

'I wish you managed to survive, my friend,' he thought, 'but I cannot dare hope that. For your own sake, I, however, wish, that you could keep your dignity and that you died without screaming and begging for mercy. Once you told me that this had been your greatest fear, but I know that you did not give this pleasure to your torturers. You died in honor and in dignity, just like you had lived.' 

In the meanwhile Gandalf was also thinking about Aragorn. The closer they came to Barad-Dûr, the more his friend was in his mind. Images of their journeys through perilous lands, of laughter and joy in Rivendell, of this great love shining in Aragorn's eyes when looking at Arwen. Since the Man had been twenty years old, he had been waiting for the moment when he finally would be able to draw her in his arms with her father's permission. Elrond had wanted him to claim his title, to become King of Gondor ere being allowed to marry Arwen and Aragorn had accepted this. For almost seventy years he had sought to destroy the evil in Middle-earth, to prepare for the final battle against Sauron and now he could not even take part in it, nor would he ever be able to see Arwen again. His long waiting and the great labors he had endured would not come to their fulfillment. Arwen, who would have given up her immortality for Aragorn, would depart from Middle-earth, not anymore being able to stand the pain the sight of the lovely valleys of Rivendell caused. There she had walked with him under blossoming trees, sat for hours under a roof of flowering stars and there she had waited for him to return and now, he possibly would never return. He had most likely died in the darkest land, after tortures beyond her worst imagination, and she would never even be able to see his body again. Aragorn would surely be buried in Minas Tirith, among the Kings of Old, but if Gandalf had allowed to choose, he would have brought him home to Rivendell where his heart had dwelt. 

'Only that his lady can see him once again. I do not think, that she will believe in his death even if I tell her myself. She will not believe it, her love in him was so strong. She will be mourning for him for thousands of years, neither Elrond nor Celebrian will be able to make her happy again. How great must an Elf's love be to give up her immortality! So deep, that she is willing to lose her kindred and everything that she knows, only to replace it with a short life and death at its end. And she could not even be sure that it would have been a life of mere joy! What would she have done, if Aragorn had died five years after their marriage? Or even sooner? Despite that no one could foretell, she plighted her troth to him. Oh, I admire her for that! But now Aragorn might be dead and I have to return to bring her these tidings. Alas, may he still life! May he have found courage and strength to overcome pain and torture! Alas, I fear of what I will find!'

The blackness of the barren plains did its own to add terror and dread to the feelings of the two riders. Never before had they seen such evil land, poisoned by millennia of malice. It hurt to breath, and occasionally Shadowfax and Arod wanted to refuse to go on, only being able to be urged to proceed by soft words whispered in their ears, gentle songs sung by a fair Elvish voice. Sometimes they had to cross a small stream seeking its way through Mordor, but the water was black and stank as if dead bodies had been thrown in to rot there. No grass, no soil covered the dark stones, no color could be seen as far as eyes reached. Only blackness and darkness and fire. Sauron had had thousand years of time to turn the once green and beautiful county into a barren wasteland in which not anything could live anymore. No animal, not even a tiny mouse, strolled across the plains, no tree, no grass brought color to the dark stones. Soon after the Dark Lord had erected Barad-Dûr, all life had been choked and those who had not died, had fled from the Black Breath. Merely the Orcs had been able to resist the unbelievable malice and Sauron had made them to his servants, killing for him, enslaving for him, torturing for him. And then there had come the Nazgûl: The once greatest kings of Men had been overthrown by their own lust for power and weakness in will. With the years they had faded and they had become shadows of unimaginable dread and terror. The Ringwraiths could also withstand the blackness of Mordor, they even needed it like another man would have to eat. From it they got their strength and the Black Breath was like water to them. They drank it greedily, following each of Sauron's orders, drawn by the One Ring and seeking to return it to its master. Save the Dark Lord himself, such evil had never before existed in Middle-earth and would never dwell there again. But still Legolas seemed to hear the sound of the hooves of the Black Rider's horses in the distance, thundering across the lands, bringing terror to all people. It was as if they had never died. Even their dreadful cries seemed to linger in his ears, a distant clashing of swords as if a great battle was fought merely some leagues away. The Elf's hands were trembling and shivers ran down his spine. Words of malice were yelled and he thought that he could see shadows moving across the lands. Battalions of Orcs, with the Nazgûl at their front, seemed to come out of the east, passing them, but not noticing the wizard and the Elf. 

'Merely shadows,' Legolas told himself, 'it is only memory that remains upon the land. This might have happened a long time ago and now the stones are remembering. I must not despair. They are merely shadows.' 

But suddenly he started. A cry, full of malice, terror and dread was reaching his ears, scaring the hell out of him. Only by pressing his left hand to his mouth, he was able to withstand the urge to yell. Power was in this voice, and even hidden laughter – if this was possible in this dark land. In a language unknown to Legolas, it cried words of hate and triumph.

_"Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg thrakatulûk_

_agh burzum-ishi krimpatul!"_

A cruel laughter followed them, uttered by a faceless shadow, and then, within one heartbeat, everything was quiet again. Silence lay above the land, no single sound could be heard except Legolas' harsh breathing. Unnoticed by the Elf, Gandalf had turned and his eyes rested on his comrade, concern clearly written down in them.

"Did you hear that, Gandalf, did you hear that?" Legolas' voice was trembling, and he shivered. It felt as if cold fingers had caught his neck and clutched on it with all possible strength, hardly loosening their deathly grip.

The wizard watched his friend for a short moment ere shaking his head. "Nay, dear Legolas, I did not hear anything," he then replied solemnly. "The land has been silent, for nothing that could utter a sound lives here anymore. What was able to disturb you so greatly?" 

Unbelievingly the Elf stared at Gandalf. "You heard nothing," he muttered silently. "You heard nothing," his voice now having turned into a shrill whisper. "Did you not hear the host trampling over the plains, the dreadful cries of the Nazgûl, and a voice yelling the evilest words I have ever heard? Did you not see the shadows moving, thousand of Orcs armed for battle? Alas, what have I done that I deserve such thing?"

A hint of desperation passed over Gandalf's face. 'He is being influenced by all this malice,' the wizard thought ere saying anything. 'How could I believe that a being so fair and honest and noble like this Elf could enter this land and stay unharmed? Only by terror and fear Elves could be turned into Orcs! Alas, I should have made him remaining in Minas Tirith, supporting Faramir and enjoying the first days of peace for a long time!'

"Legolas," the wizard then said aloud, reaching out to the Elf, resting his palm on the other's forearm, "I plead you not to despair! The shadows will not be able to influence you if you do not let them come close to you. You must defend yourself! Think of Mirkwood, of Rivendell, of Lothlórien! Remember the Lady Galadriel and the Lord Celeborn, white and fair and wise. Turn your mind to Elrond, where eternal summer is in his gardens! Do not let yourself be harmed by blackness and shadow, for there are so many beautiful things in your life!"

But Legolas was not responding to Gandalf's attempts to bring him back to reality. The Elf's mind was still captured in the world of shadows, his eyes gazing to the far east, unseeing, though. He was clutching onto Arod´s reins, making the horse uncomfortable. Great tension was in his shoulders and his muscles quivered.

Not knowing how to help the Elf, the wizard then slowly began to speak the verses of an Elven song. Never would he have dared to sing in Elvish tongue, for his voice was raw and hoarse, and he merely would have sullied the soft verses and the words would have lost their meaning. But still he had to do something. Only something that touched the Elf in the depths of his soul would make him return to the land of living. Of Elbereth he spoke, some verses he had heard in his years of wandering. 'Aragorn loved this song,' the wizard remembered absently, 'Arwen's voice chanting it still lingers in my ear.'

_Snow white! Snow-white! O Lady clear!_

_O Queen beyond the Western Seas!_

_O Light to us that wander here_

_Amid the world of woven trees!_

_Gilthoniel! O Elbereth!_

_Clear are thy eyes and bright thy breath!_

_Snow-white! Snow-white! We sing to thee_

_In a far land beyond the Sea._

_O stars that in the Sunless Year_

_With shining hand by her were sown,_

_In windy fields now bright and clear_

_We see your silver blossom blown!_

And there Gandalf stopped, for he did not know how to go on. He had forgotten the last verse, the most beautiful, but suddenly a soft and quiet, but fair voice reached his ears, singing the missing lines. Legolas had come out of his state of total apathy, and his voice brought music to the land, enchanting the stones and turning to him the attention of the water. Everything became alive, strained to hear the Elf singing, for long millennia had passed without any joy. Even Gandalf himself was not able to remain unimpressed the harmony coming from Legolas´ mouth.

_O Elbereth! Gilthoniel!_

_We still remember, we who dwell_

_In this far land beneath the trees,_

_Thy starlight on the Western Seas._

Turning his head, Gandalf found himself being smiled at by the Elf. "Thank you," Legolas just whispered, "you might have saved my life."

No other word was spoken of this matter, but from this point on the wizard watched Legolas more carefully, ever speaking to him when he thought that the Elf had been silent for too long. Each time he got a friendly smile in return, but most of the times Legolas did not have to be encouraged. His soul had learned how to forget the unpleasant things waiting for him in Mordor, and in his Elvish way it turned to the fair when the blackness threatened to harm him. 

So the hours were passing and the sun was already beginning to set again when the two riders passed Orodruin. Its fires were still raging, lava still flowing down its slopes. For centuries the flames would not cease to burn, and when they would finally be extinguished, none of the people living right now would dwell in Middle-earth anymore. All of the Elves would have sailed to Valinor, to the Undying Lands, Lothlórien would be abandoned, and even the long-living Númenoreans would have buried many generations of men.

By now the way to Barad-Dûr was not long anymore, two hours at the most. In two hours they would know of Aragorn's fate, whether it had turned out ill or well. In two hours they would know whether to laugh or to grief.

A/N: Critics? Please tell me!


	14. Barad-Dur, the Dark Tower

A/N: So, just one more chapter before you'll hear about Aragorn. You see, I pay heed to your requests *g* I guess, I should have written about him sooner, but I think it'll work out quite well as I've done it till now. The mentioning of his fate before would have destroyed the mood of uncertainty I'm trying to create. I hope, that you all are still anxious to get to know about his fate! 

So, enough of my ramblings. Enjoy and don't forget to review…. *g*

To Julia: I just read your review for my German story "Ewigkeit", and I hope that you'll be happy to hear that the translation of it is online also: "Eternity – Ewigkeit (engl. version)". You'll just have to look for it. I've also up another story of Aragorn and Arwen – "A cold night". *Hint hint* - you might like the two, though.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

_Barad-Dûr, the Dark Tower_

Gandalf urged Shadowfax into a faster trot, he did not want to waste anymore time. Now they were so close to the Dark Tower where Aragorn would be lying dead or barely alive. For eleven days he had been waiting to discover his friend's fate, most of the time fearing the worst, hope just sometimes returning to his heart. But currently Gandalf indeed could hope: Since Legolas had learned how to fight the darkness, the wizard had found faith that maybe also Aragorn would have been able to resist his torturers: Having been raised by the Elves, he might have adopted some of the Elvish skills of defiance.

'After all, Legolas told me, that Aragorn truly was able to withstand the Ring's powers. He did not give in to it, although he was feeling the urge to claim it for the entire journey. Aragorn was strong and he even refused taking the Ring when Frodo wanted him to have it at Elrond's council. I have faith in my friend, one that could resist his own weaknesses, unlike his forefathers, might have been able to survive imprisonment in Barad-Dûr. And finally, Sauron did not have too much time to torture Aragorn: Despite having been caught fourteen days ago, the Orcs surely needed at least four to five days to get him to the Dark Tower. It is a long way from Tol Brandir and even after they had arrived, Sauron might have had to focus on the battle raging in front of the gates of Minas Tirith. Maybe he was not able to turn his mind to Aragorn for the whole time and my friend was left on his own, chained for sure and heavily guarded as well, but maybe without orders to torment him any further. I am certain that Sauron did not want to miss his greatest enemy dying slowly, hoping that Aragorn would scream with pain or even beg for his life. Indeed it might sound strangely, but therefore I find my greatest hope in the Dark Lord's unbelievable malice.'

"There it is," Legolas sudden whisper startled the wizard. Fear had crept back into the Elf's voice and instantly Gandalf knew, what he had meant with 'it'. Lifting his head, he saw a black tower rising into the sky about one hour away. It was built upon the westernmost hill of the Ered Lithui, the Ash Mountains. Its sides were completely smooth, no window interrupted the bare stone, at least not until a height to which no living being could climb was reached. Only there some small stones were missing in the black walls, rather looking like the entrance to perilous caves instead of spots where the rays of the sun could send its light into the dark interior. The top of the tower was shaped like a huge paw belonging to a forgotten animal of the past, reaching out for any intruders to frighten them and to tell them of the immense power of the Dark Lord dwelling inside. A single claw was pointing to the sky, as if to indicate that Sauron had also overthrown the clouds and the weather. It was not difficult to imagine blood dripping from those outstretched fingers, forming a pool of red around the base of the tower. 

Legolas' hands had again begun to tremble slightly and Gandalf also looked uncomfortable. Both had halted their mounts, staring across the plain, not being able to avert their eyes. 

"There he was held prisoner for fourteen long days," Legolas muttered quietly, "I do not even want to imagine what tortures, what pain and anguish he has gone through. Alas, I am still not sure whether it would truly be better for him to be alive…" 

Quickly the Elf turned to look at Gandalf, almost stammering. He had forgotten that he had never told the wizard about the nights he had lain awake, thinking about the possibility whether a human soul would be able to survive such horrible experiences without being destroyed forever.

"I mean, of course, I want him to live, to be with us again, but you know…" Legolas trailed off, embarrassed.

The wizard merely shook his head. "I understand you pretty well, my friend," he said, sounding pained, "I think in the same way, and I am uncertain, either. Aragorn is sturdy, we both have seen that on many occasions, but even if he had enough strength to survive this ordeal, he might be changed so completely – in the depths of his soul – that we will not even recognize him anymore. I dreamed of lifeless eyes staring at me, or otherwise, of eyes full of anger and hate, and then I always remembered Aragorn´s gentle glances and knew, that life does not need to be a gift."

Elf nodded, sighing. "You truly are right, but despite all my doubts, I still greatly wish that we will find him alive. Yes, that truly is the only thing I want. With the care of friends and of some certain lady, even the most destroyed soul might find peace again, shall it take decades."

A soft smile flashed across the wizard's face. "Arwen," he said gently. "Never would one have been tended to better. I often had the chance to see that when Aragorn and I returned to Rivendell after some exhausting journey. I was almost forgotten but he was fussed over until he found some excuse to escape from her. Not that he did not like it, though." Gandalf chuckled for a moment ere getting serious again. "Those were good times, I may tell you. Although our deeds were perilous, we got to know each other well, becoming close friends, and that is, why it does hurt now even more. But, indeed, love and friendship can manage things which no one could dream of without them."

At these words Legolas was stunned. He almost stared at the wizard's back while following Shadowfax' trail after the horse had begun to move again. Hardly ever before had Gandalf opened up so much, had told about Aragorn´s and his journeys. The only time the Elf could remember had been about ten days ago, on the first afternoon after Gandalf's return from the shadow. There he had spoken about Aragorn's youth, but just briefly, and Legolas had thought it to be caused by the shock of his friend's capture. Now, however, he did not know who to rate it. Was it merely because they had become closer in the past days since having left Minas Tirith, or did Gandalf sense that Aragorn was not alive anymore and that he had to speak to someone to distract himself from this premonition? Legolas could not guess, but he had a sick feeling in his stomach that would not leave him.

In Legolas' mind minutes were dragging to hours as they were coming closer to the tower. Dark and high it rose in front of them, an air of hate and anger and thread engulfing their bodies. Each breath smelt foul and poisoned, but even greater was the anguish in their hearts. Hundreds of dead Orcs were covering the black stones in front of Barad-Dûr, their dark blood having pooled to small ponds. Shadowfax was walking determinedly through the bodies, but Arod was at the brink to stumble on more than one occasion. Only with great skill and faith in his heart, Legolas could protect his horse from falling. Their mounts also felt the terror coming from the Dark Tower, having been raised by the Rohirrim they were not used to such great evil. 

And then, about one hour ere sunset, Gandalf and Legolas had finally reached the outer wall running around the Barad-Dûr. After two days in this horrible land Mordor, they had come to their aim: The former seat of Sauron, a fortress of unbelievable malice. Still, even after the Dark Lord had vanished, it made Legolas shiver. Not only the blackness, the Red Eye painted on the wall, caused this, but mostly the thoughts about the tortures Aragorn had gone through behind this impenetrable walls. 

And indeed, the fortress could be called impregnable: A high wall of huge black stones formed the outer circle, a single gate the only entrance to the interior. Beasts, hewn out of dark and smooth rocks, piercing any trespasser with penetrating glances, sat there to frighten any intruder, and two days ago there certainly had been Orcs to guard the gate. Their bodies were still lying in the place they had stood, swords and spears still clutched in their hands. And above everything there was the Red Eye, carved out of stone, but shining with dried blood. 

'Human blood,' popped into Gandalf's mind, 'Orcs are bleeding black.' A shiver ran down his spine, but nevertheless he guided Shadowfax through the high gate. He did not want to waste anymore time, ten days of uncertainty had been enough. 

A vast place was opening in front of him, the Dark Tower rising in the middle, again protected by a wall. But this one was not even head-high. It seemed to have been torn down, with some protruding rocks indicating its original height of about two meters. In some places there were even small gaps, making a gate unnecessary. Everywhere were broken swords lying around, helmets with the Red Eye on it mingled with bloodstained mail. Dead Orcs wherever one's eyes turned to, arrows sticking out from backs, chests and heads. Some mouths were opened as if to scream for aid or with pain and agony. A scene of destruction and battle.

Arod snorted, seemingly uncomfortable. Legolas patted the mount's neck reassuringly, then followed Gandalf who had ridden to the second wall in front of the tower. The wizard halted Shadowfax at one of the gaps, wide enough to let a horse pass. Slowly he dismounted and waited for the Elf to come closer.

Legolas also leaped from Arod's back, grabbing his bow at the same time. Uncertain, he glanced at Gandalf who had turned to face the Dark Tower. An expression the Elf had never seen before was in the wizard's eyes: Fury, pain and anger. He lifted his hand, clenching it to a fist, and shook it with undisguised hate.

"If you had not paid yet, I would make you pay right now!" the wizard said, calmly, but with an edge in his voice that made Legolas shiver. In this moment he perceived the Istari's power, a menace that lay underneath the wise and peaceful surface. Not even he, Gandalf the White, highest in his order, was completely free of evil. The Elf did not want to guess what the wizard would have done to someone he could have blamed for his friend's suffering. 

But then, this moment was gone. Gandalf was again the Gandalf Legolas had gotten to know on their journey, and the Elf sighed notably without realizing it. For long minutes he just stared at the wizard, saying nothing. If one had watched them, he would have thought that Legolas tried to read Gandalf's mind, so intent was his glare, so serene the expression on his face. The wizard just stood there, not interrupting his friend, thinking about the things going on in the Elf's mind.

Abruptly then, Legolas averted his eyes, glimpsing to the tower rising in front of him, sighing again. Not turning his eyes back to the wizard, he instead fixed them on Shadowfax.

"I will not go with you further," he said quietly but determined. "I have made up my mind, and I deem it your fate to see Aragorn first. You may understand me: It is not lack of courage that I would not go with you, but to me, it would feel wrong to come. Fate does not want me to come. Aragorn has been your friend for many years and I guess that he would not like it, if I would accompany you. Please, go these last steps on your own. I will wait here with our horses. May you return with light in your eyes!"

Gandalf watched his comrade intently ere replying. Faintly he shook his head, a gentle expression suddenly softening his features. "I do understand you fairly well, my friend. It is not your fate to enter Barad-Dûr, you shall not set foot in the darkest place in Middle-earth. I indeed would have been surprised, if you had offered to come with me, but I also deem it better like this. Fate is too important to be ignored, and destiny wants you to stay out. I shall surrender to wishes coming from a source too high above for us to understand its purpose. Never will I think ill of you, for you merely followed your heart. May lightning strike me, if I will ever do otherwise!"

For a short moment the wizard rested his palm on the other's forearm reassuringly, then Shadowfax' reins were pressed into the Elf's hand, and Gandalf disappeared through the gap in the wall out of Legolas' sight. 

Taking Arod's bridle as well, the blond Elf seated himself on a huge rock of the destroyed wall, his back to the Dark Tower, facing the outer stone-circle. But when he straightened himself, Legolas was able to see beyond the barrier: Far away, Ephel Duath rose into the air, the peaks looking like broken teeth. But they were only dark silhouettes against the golden sky in the west. The sun was sinking, setting the summits in flame, bright colors were shining and they brought joy to Legolas' heart. For days he had merely seen darkness, black and gray, and although it would get dark soon, he rejoiced with the patterns of gold, red and bright orange painted on the sky. 

A smile spread across his face, his eyes flashed for a moment ere he remembered the reason why they had come to Mordor after all. The minute of joy was gone, concern and worry returned to his heart. There, on that wall, he would wait for Gandalf's return, desperately wanting to see how Aragorn fared. But Legolas knew, that there were only two possibilities: Either the wizard would carry the Man in his arms, dead, or Aragorn would walk out of Barad-Dûr, with his head held high, despite how badly his injures were. Never would the Man, were he still alive, even consider leaving the Dark Tower without honor and pride, being defeated by pain and agony. 

Desperately Legolas wanted to believe in the latter, but his heart knew that he should not hope too much. Death was far more likely.

A/N: Anything that I should know? Please tell me!


	15. Darkness, and threat, and fear

A/N: Last chapter before Aragorn's appearance…. I know he's been gone for long, long days, but I've already begun writing the next chapter: *I* know what's happening to him…. *laughs evilly* Hope you like this one, I guess that Gandalf's a bit too emotional, but I just couldn't write him otherwise…. You should have seen my first attempts….a torture for everyone who loves the book-Gandalf!

_Julia:_ Huge thanks for all your reviews! I truly appreciate them, and I'd be happy to get your e-mail address that we'd get to know each other better.

_Snitter in Rivendell:_ Again huge thanks! I always try to review each chapter of your story, though I sometimes miss a new one on the day you post it, and I love to see how different 'similar' storylines can evolve!

_Aralondwen:_ Another huge thanks! In one of your reviews you told me that you were writing a story of your own at the moment. I truly would like to see it and I absolutely promise to review *g*. You'd just have to tell me when it'll be online!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything …. it's a pity, isn't it?

So, enough of my ramblings, enjoy!!!

_Darkness, and threat, and fear_

Immediately after Gandalf had passed through the gap in the stony wall, an immense shadow, dark and fearful, seemed to claim his heart. It was as if the Dark Lord, even after he had vanished, tried to prevent the wizard from entering his Tower, from trying to help his friend, from bringing relieve to a dying man. The sun had not sunk yet, but its light could not reach into that darkest spot in Middle-earth. Shadows appeared to follow each of Gandalf's steps, an army of the past. Whispers floated in the air, speaking words in a tongue so foul that the air itself could not bear the sounds. Yet, Gandalf successfully withstood the urge to press his hands on his ears, instead he tightened the grip on his staff. With it, he had brought light into the eternal darkness of Moria, but not even his power could drive out the shadows of the Dark Tower.

For the first time in his entire life – and that indeed had been a long one – Gandalf felt fear. Not the undetermined feeling he had had when he had heard that the One Ring had been found again, not the one he had felt at fighting the Balrog. And neither the one after he had learned that Frodo and Sam had gone to Mordor on their own. 

'Nay, this one is different,' the wizard pondered while slowly walking towards the dark, high gate of Barad-Dûr, leaning heavily onto his staff. 'It does not come from within my heart, and truly not out of my mind. No, this fear comes from outside, tries to swallow myself, attempts to make me giving up my purpose. It is not a feeling, it is a living being, breathing, speaking, and feeling itself. Sent by the Dark Lord, cursed to linger here beyond the end of the world, frightening each intruder. Alas, even I, being Gandalf the White, highest among my order, can hardly stand it! What would have happened to Legolas, if fate had not warned him? Alas, he would have been consumed by fear and thread! Truly, it is better that he is waiting outside. Even there his heart may not be free of despair!'

Sighing heavily, the wizard came to a dead halt and lifted his head. He was now standing right in front of the gate, the Dark Tower rising into the sky. 

The walls were of black stone, seeming to have stood there since the beginning of the world, never having been erected by mortal hand. No single slit could be seen between the rocks appearing to have been hewn out of one mountain. The gate itself, though, was broken down, the Red Eye hardly visible on some remaining stones.

Nevertheless, a slight shiver ran down Gandalf's spine. He had not expected to feel such great evil, such malice. He had seen unbelievable cruelty in his life, had witnessed the rise of Sauron, yet he was not – could not – be prepared for such thread. It was beyond his worst imagination and a hint of shock was in the old wizard's eyes, as he stared at a small drop of red blood being used as paint for the pupil of the Eye. 'Is it yours, Aragorn?' sprang to his mind, but the rock kept silent and did not answer. 

Images of torture and pain appeared again. A bloody mass that once must have been a man lay on the floor, Orcs were dragging away a body. Another one whipped a back, belonging to some unknown face. Five men, still fairly young, were chained to the wall, seeming more dead than alive. The room was painted in red, filled with the cruel laughter of Orcs. The captives' cries were ringing in Gandalf´s ears. 

Aragorn's voice was among them. Yet, he alone did not beg for mercy. He cursed his tormenters, promised revenge if he ever came free again. Fury was in his words, and strength. But suddenly, his yells ceased, creating a strange silence. 

Startled, Gandalf opened his eyes, not knowing that he had closed them at all. His blood was pounding in his ears, sounding like the drumbeats in Moria.

'Aragorn,' his heart cried, 'you cannot be dead! Tell me that you have just lost consciousness, your mind escaping the pain! Try to last only a few more minutes, then I will be with you! See, I am already at the gate, merely some steps are separating us anymore! Make your heart go on beating, do not stop to breath!'

But in his innermost soul the wizard knew, that he would come too late. That Aragorn had died from torture, pain or from the mere touch of Sauron. 

'And the last would certainly have been the worst.'

 And with that, an image appeared in the wizard's mind that he truly would have liked to banish, but found that he could not.

'Aragorn, chained to the wall, blood running down his arms, his wrists hardly more than white bone. His torso naked, the black leather breeches torn into pieces. Bare feet. His head fallen onto his chest, black dirty hair hiding his face. Deep welts covering his stomach. Fresh gashes bleeding heavily. Breathing ragged. Blood staining the corners of his mouth. With each heartbeat, life leaving him through his various wounds.

From another side of the chamber, a dark shadow approached the tortured man, no visible form, just a feeling of fear, and thread, and terror. If it had had a face, it would have smiled cruelly. A gloved finger touched the sunken chin, almost gently wiping away the blood from the man's face. Suddenly, though, it violently jerked Aragorn's head up, the man's eyes fluttering open. Immediately, an expression full of horror replaced the indifferent gaze and Aragorn yanked his head away, his mouth opening as if to cry, yet never being able to utter a yell. 

The man had died merely from Sauron´s touch, his broken soul still too pure to be able to withstand such malice.'

Gandalf shook his head in a desperate attempt to make these images vanish. 

Slowly then, he turned his eyes from the Red Eye and stared at the dark interior of the Tower. The shattered door revealed only a deep darkness, an empty darkness. Nothing covered the bare walls, the black floor. Not even dirt. Slowly the wizard stepped over the threshold, entering the fortress of his greatest Enemy, and stopped again ere starting to cross the vast hall. There, exactly at the opposing end, he could make out a shadow, indicating the outline of a staircase. It had to be the one leading up into the Tower. Taking a deep breath, Gandalf took his first step within Barad-Dûr, straightening himself. Whispers were in the air, distant, murmuring words of thread. Straining his ears, Gandalf could make out some words, then knowing that the Black Breath had not left the world completely. It was still in the stones, in the wind, those innocent things poisoned by a being that had thought of nothing else for almost three thousand years.

_"Ash … durbatulûk, … nazg gimbatul, ash nazg …_

_agh burzum-… krimpatul!"_

'One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them, One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them.'

A grim smile crossed the wizard's face. "The Ring is gone, Sauron," he said aloud, his voice determined, "you have lost and we have won. Victory is ours, despite anything that you did to Aragorn. Middle-earth is saved! He was tortured badly, maybe until he died, but his pain merely caused greater wrath in our people. They would never have given up fighting for his sake! I would have never had them doing such! You are defeated! And we will see to it that such evil will never come back to this world! This time you cannot return! The Ring is destroyed and never will one be made again!" 

In the end, Gandalf was almost shouting. He still felt fury pulsing through his veins at each thought of Aragorn's fate, and he whished that he had someone to punish for. But there was none. So he could merely try to calm himself otherwise. Shouting helped.

Surprise claimed his heart at this thought. He had never before been emotional, likely to show his feelings. Always had he tried to hide everything, trying to be reasonable. And he had managed well. In his whole life he had never lost control, even not when he had discovered the treason of Isengard. Wrath had filled him then completely, his disappointment only adding to that, but he had not started to shout at an unseen enemy who did not even live anymore. At that time he had sat on top of the Orthanc, victim to rain and wind, but he had not cursed Saruman, had not let himself be consumed by his fury. There he had been thinking of ways to escape, of ways to warn the Hobbits, and, almost subconsciously, he had even felt pity for Saruman. 

But now it was different: Unknown emotions were cursing through his blood, likely to weaken him, yet Gandalf could not banish them. They were a part of him, and if he had suppressed them, he would break at seeing Aragorn's body, whether alive or dead. About that the Istari was more than certain. 

'Maybe admitting my fury right now prepares me for the things awaiting me in this Dark Tower. Surely it is better to feel right now than to collapse next to Aragorn. When I will find him, I will need strength. Even if he is still alive, I am likely to have to carry him down. His injuries might be so bad that he will not be able to stand upright, even less to walk.'

Absently the wizard fumbled in a small bag attached to his mantle. Yes, he still had some herbs with him. Even some _athelas_, which could make people standing at the brink of death return. Maybe there was still hope for Aragorn. _Athelas_, kingsfoil, why should it not help the king himself? 

With slow, careful steps Gandalf crossed the vast hall. The roof, supported by isolated pillars, was high above him, hardly visible in the dark. The columns were not shaped in any way, just huge vertical stones rising from the floor. At the base of each, some living coals still told of the great fires once burning there, before Sauron had vanished. But these could not illuminate the enormous room, it merely was as if they brought even darker darkness. No red shine was cast on the surrounding rocks, the coals lived and were dead at the same time. Gandalf faintly shook his head. Fire had ever been a symbol of the evil, bringing good only when it was controlled, but in no other place he had ever seen that the flames did not bring light. Even the Balrog, the flame of Udûn, had lighted the eternal blackness of Moria, had made the walls seeming set aflame, had breathed living fire. But here, in Barad-Dûr, the flames were merely evil: No light, no warmth, a sign of death. 

It was completely quiet in this hall, Gandalf realized after some minutes, his footsteps echoing through the immense emptiness. He could hear each of his heartbeats, blood pounding in his ears, his breath appearing as loud as the one of a whole battalion. 

'Sauron knew how to keep his Orcs under control, knew how to frighten them.'

At length, the wizard had finally crossed the hall, standing at the opposite end of the door, below the first step of the staircase. It was winding up into the Tower, disappearing out of sight after a few meters. The steps were still completely intact, neither broken nor split. The passage was wide enough to have four men going down next to each other, a lone wizard would have no problem climbing up to the top. And there he supposed Aragorn to be. Furthest away from the desired gate, but closest to the stars, thus merely adding to his agony. Looking into the sky while being tortured most cruelly, seeing the shining stars while trying to withstand deepest pain, his mind bringing back images of the pure blue of the roof over Rivendell.

Leaning heavily onto his staff, Gandalf began his long ascend, fearing the worst, but hoping for better. For long he saw nothing than the endless darkness of the passage, a faint light coming from his stick. Gray shadows were moving with him on the walls, seeming to pursue the Istari. The black stones seemed to reverberate the cries of the tortured, echoing from base to top, from top to base. Yells of agony, of fear, of pain, some appearing older than a millennium, caught to live on within this prison. The bodies belonging to them having died a thousand years ago, or having become shadows, still alive to haunt the living. But most of the terrible shouts were young, telling of things that had happened not one hundred years ago. They were not voices anymore, they had ceased to speak words, the only thing that remained of those killed was the anguish they felt in the moment of their death. Gandalf strained to make out a distinctive nuance that might belong to Aragorn, but that was impossible. The wizard was still allowed to hope. Nevertheless, the cries hurt his ears, remembering him of the various ways to kill a man so slowly that his struggle lasted for days and weeks. Only people tormented most cruelly would be able to utter such a yell, its very sound piercing the heart of any listeners. 

'Aragorn,' Gandalf thought in the darkness, 'Aragorn, my dear friend. You are abandoned by all living people, even the Orcs have left. You are alone, maybe at the brink of death. I recall your words, uttered once in a beautiful night, flowering stars in the sky. A night, when the evil of Mordor had still been far away, and we did not have to think of it for all the time. We spoke of Arwen, of the Elves in general. I told you some of the old tales and you listened intently. It was a good night, and our friendship filled it with life. But maybe this was also the first night from which on I knew that you would have to endure an ill fate. Completely out of connection, slowly smoking your pipe, my last words having been 'Rest well, my friend', you showed that you possess the foresight of your people, and at your words a shiver ran down my spine. You said it with such earnestness, so seriously, that I knew that it was not just an absentminded spoken sentence, but something that had bothered you for long. 'I fear of dying alone.' That was the only thing you whispered, and yet it was so much more. You were sitting there, your hands holding your pipe, completely calm, your hair hiding your face, I could merely see the shadows cast on it by the flickering flames. You looked so noble, as if Elendil himself was at my side in this moment, and yet so frightened. A blanket was drawn around your upper body to protect you from the cold, and yet you trembled. You tried to hide it, but I noticed nevertheless. I wanted to embrace you, tell you that I would never leave you, but I could not, for it would have sounded like a lie even in my ears. I knew, that once you would have to go your way on your own, facing your own fate with no one at your side. The only thing I did, and until this very day I still wonder whether I should have acted differently, was to reach out and lay my palm on your knee. I whished to comfort you and I know that you stopped trembling, but the fear had not left your eyes when you lifted them to watch me. In a way I was embarrassed and I feel ashamed that I had done nothing else to soothe you. From this day on, the innocence had disappeared out of your eyes and was replaced by something that others interpreted as indifference, sometimes even coldness, but I and some others knew that you merely tried to hide your true feelings. Arwen did, and Legolas. Maybe Gimli got a closer look as well, and I know that you deeply cared for Frodo and the other Hobbits. But what did Boromir see in you? Did he see your soul, or only the king that he must not like? I have watched you two often, Aragorn. There always was uncomfortableness in your behavior towards him, but he also did not conceal his anger towards you. After all, you were the one that was to take away his seat as a ruler of Gondor. Legolas never told me, whether your attitudes changed after Moria, or if you both only relented in the moment of his death. Maybe Legolas does not know, but I wish that it had happened: That you perceived his soul, not the part of him that wanted to take the Ring, and that he saw the emotions you are truly feeling. You are not of stone, my friend, although I know that it sometimes would be better. In this night, long-passed, you began to change, and I deem that I have fault in this, either. I should have reacted differently to your utterance of fear. Elves are unused to admit such, and so were you. For the first time, maybe, you opened up and I could hardly comfort you. Never have we spoken of that matter again, but I have remembered your words since that night. They have never left me, and now, so it seems, they are becoming true. 'I fear of dying alone.' And no one is with you. 

Aragorn, I hasten upwards to come to your aid. And I promise, that I will see to it that you will never be in danger on your own again, if you are still alive. Never have you spoken of any other fear, and of this one only once, and I desperately wish that the foresight of your people failed you in this particular moment. You shall not die alone!'

From time to time Gandalf came across an iron door in the walls, most of them were closed, but the wizard was able to open each. Every entrance reawakened the hope in his heart, behind each Aragorn might be lying, bleeding but alive. Yet, still believing that his friend was imprisoned in one of the topmost chambers, Gandalf could not proceed as fast as he had wanted, seeking to miss none of the doors. Five had he already passed, behind each nothing which indicated that Aragorn might have been tortured there. Four had been empty, filled with mere blackness, and the last had been packed with armors for the Orcs. Some black helmets, a few swords, quite a lot of spears, nothing of importance for the wizard. Yet, he did not give up hope and stopped in front of each entrance, hoping to find Aragorn in there. 

How long had he already done nothing else than ever going up and up? For hours, it seemed to the wizard. The darkness had engulfed him completely, his only twinkle of light was the small crystal on his staff. With a tight grip he clutched Aragorn's necklace in his hand. He had not given it back to Legolas in that night under the trees of Fangorn, he had carried it himself, being a tiny spark of hope, a symbol for Aragorn's life. As long as he had the necklace, his friend would not die. The leather felt smooth in his fingers, had lost its roughness by years of lying on Aragorn's soft skin. The man had never borne it over his clothes, it had always been hidden from any other's sight. Only Aragorn himself had known that it had been there, the small pendant grazing his chest. Arwen had been with him for all the time, not only in his memory, and Gandalf could hardly guess how bad his friend's situation had been when the man had had to leave his most precious thing behind. 

'He will be pleased to get it back,' Gandalf pondered while stopping in front of another door, the sixth. 'I am certain that he missed it dearly while being imprisoned here. After all, it is a touchable token of freedom, of a world without pain. Alas, what had I given to make him have it?'

He pushed the door open and peeked inside, his staff illuminating the darkness, creating flickering shadows. No, this chamber was empty as well, the air inside dry and stuffy. No living being had drawn a breath here for many years, and Gandalf left it without looking more thoroughly. 

Further upward the steps led him, coming closer to the top of the Tower, but getting steeper and more difficult to climb with each passing minute. The wizard stopped on a small landing, pausing for some heartbeats. Only then he noticed that it had become significantly cool. Breathing caused a fine mist in front of his mouth, and a strange chill ran through his feet while standing still. Moving, he had not become aware of this, but now it made him feel uncomfortable. Aragorn had certainly not been given any clothes to protect him from the cold, more likely had he been stripped to the skin, making him shiver and freeze. Lifting his head Gandalf tried to pierce the darkness with his eyes, but he could not see beyond the next turn of the staircase. 

Tightening the grip on his staff, the wizard again began to climb up further. He could not be far from the top anymore, having been at the evil walls' mercy for so long. The dreadful cries of the tortured were still tormenting his ears, sometimes increasing in intensity, never ceasing at all. It seemed that they became louder and filled with even greater horror, attempting to scare him. 

Gandalf shook his head, causing his long beard to tremble. No one and nothing would be able to stop him now, he had promised his friend, and after all, he was an Istari. Shadows of cries, shadows of armed hosts could not frighten him. Any lesser person might have fled, but he would not. A grim smile crossed his face. Saruman had not defeated him, he had escaped from the Orthanc, and he had been the only one that had dared to withstand a Nazgûl. The wizard straightened himself again, but kept calm otherwise. He did nothing else, did not cease ascending, did not move his hand, yet his hidden power surfaced suddenly and within one heartbeat, quietness returned to the dark passage in the heart of Barad-Dûr. For many thousand years had such not happened. Ever had there been these horrible yells, the scaring whispers of evil, murmuring the words craved into the One Ring. Now merely the howling of the wind, appearing gentle to the tortured walls, lay in the air, bringing a fresh smell, a new breath. 

Gandalf felt his often suppressed strength cursing through his veins, the light on his staff had increased in vivacity. The walls now seemed to reflect the soft rays, no longer consuming them, swallowing them. At once the complete darkness disappeared and a faint glow appeared to engulf the wizard while taking the next steps.

An immense power had entered the Dark Tower and had made himself visible, a might merely compared to the one of the Unnamed, but white. The stones seemed to sigh, an enormous weight having lain on their chests had vanished.

The wizard himself sensed his hope increasing, like a huge wave crashing onto his body. Pure water that drove out the blackness in his heart, returning light to it. Suddenly he was sure that he would find Aragorn alive, merely having to free him from his chains and then the three of them would return to Minas Tirith where Aragorn would be crowned as Elessar Telcontar of Gondor and Arnor, his own people giving him the name that had been foretold at his birth. The wizard could almost picture the man standing on an ornate balcony at the White Tower, the white jewels on his crown flashing in the early December sun. Arwen had her arms wound around his waist, both laughing happily at their people cheering to them. Gandalf's lips curved in a smile. Peace would finally return to the so long tortured lands of Middle-earth. Under Aragorn, Elessar, the new age would begin in concord.

With new faith Gandalf now hurried upwards. He knew that the top could not be far anymore now, an inner sense told him that, also urging him to hasten. Steps diminished to a blurring way under his feet, the wizard was almost running. He did not feel the speed, though. To him it still appeared too slow to be truly fast. For the first time since he had left the hall at the base of the tower, he passed one of the iron doors without opening it. He did not even hesitate to think about it, for him it was enough that he did not feel a breathing body behind it. Absently the wizard noticed this sharpening of his senses, the certainty in his heart. His whole mind was focused on going up and up and up…and suddenly Gandalf stumbled over another landing. His feet had become so used to the ever following steps that it was almost a shock to the wizard that there was none anymore.

With a flash in his eyes, Gandalf lifted his head, hoping that he might see how far from the top he still was. But there were no further steps leading upward, a stony wall with a mighty door was opposing him there where the staircase should have continued. Finally the wizard had reached the top of Barad-Dûr, his destiny since many days. 

Nearly taken aback, Gandalf stood there, surveying his surroundings, sub-consciously wanting to get some more minutes ere having to open the iron door staring at him.

The passage had narrowed in the last few turns, and now the black walls were almost touching the wizard's sleeves, elbows and shoulders. The chilliness from before had also increased, wanting to pierce Gandalf's flesh, and a slight tremor ran down his spine. The stones were covered with a strange liquid that was no water, glimmering oddly in the light of his staff. Carefully he touched it, causing a prickle on his fingers, the skin getting cold and numb. Hastily he withdrew his hand again, staring at the fluid ere shaking his head.

Then Gandalf turned again, now facing the iron door that seemed to challenge him with a mocking grin. A hint of anger flashed through the wizard's eyes, vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. He knew that Aragorn would be behind this last barrier that separated him from his friend, but Gandalf did not feel well at this thought. Ever since he had learned about Aragorn's fate from Legolas, his heart had been in a constant turmoil: For the most time despair had ruled in it, but hope had ever and anon peaked through the thick layer of darkness. Now, in this very moment, the wizard did not know what exactly was on top. On the one side he felt that his friend had to be dead, that there was no other possibility, but on the other he had an even stronger feeling that Aragorn was alive. 

'He cannot be dead,' Gandalf mused while staring at the door, 'too many people are relying on him. What would have happened to the Fellowship, if he had not been there to protect them? If he had died in Moria, killed by the Orcs or the Balrog? If his body had been pierced by the arrows instead of Boromir's? Alas, I do not even wish to think about it! Aragorn was the only one I could trust with leadership, and all of the others counted on him. He cannot have died, the good have to be rewarded and not punished with death! Alas, I do not want to delay further, too much time has already been wasted on our way!'

And with these final thoughts, Gandalf drew a deep breath as if to prepare himself of the things waiting for him behind the closed entrance. A sudden paleness was displayed on his features, his hand shaking slightly while reaching out to grab the iron bar bolting the door. Images of happier days, of Aragorn defending himself vigorously against a band of Orcs, of Aragorn discussing something with him, his face so earnest and solemn, and of the man smiling at Arwen, his expression so soft and gentle, flashed through the wizard's mind. The cold fingers of fear gripped on his neck. Again a deep intake of breath followed and with that, Gandalf pressed the bar back and pushed the door open.

A/N: Am I not evil?! Hm, I know, but I just couldn't hinder myself from stopping just at that moment when everything's gonna be revealed. Guesses are still allowed! Wanna know your opinion!


	16. Shattered

A/N: And there it is: I proudly (truly proudly) present chapter 16 – the long awaited revelation of Aragorn's fate. I hope that you'll like it; for weeks I didn't know how things finally would end, but since chapter 11 I have been determined to let it end like you'll read soon – I just thought it would be more suitable like that. So, I hope, I won't disappoint you, I really tried to have it sound as real as possible.

Great thanks to all my reviewers! You've been my hope and my encouragement! Love you all!! 

As one of my most loyal reviewers recommended my story, I'll do so likewise with his: I truly love "Darkness of Mordor" by Snitter in Rivendell, and if you have enjoyed "Alda mi mornie", you'll probably like "DoM" as well. The most basic ideas are quite the same, but from there on there a totally different storyline evolves. Especially all those who have constantly asked me to write about Aragorn sooner will like "Darkness of Mordor, 'cause Snitter decided to build up excitement in another way. I think it to be very well done!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

_Shattered_

The first thing the wizard noticed was a window at the exactly opposing wall. The night loomed in through it, bringing with it a soft glow of the stars. Their light was white, illuminating the stones upon it fell with a luminous shimmer. But only a small part of the chamber received the relieving shine, the other lay in dreadful darkness that even the gentle and innocent starlight could not surpass. An evil might have created this blackness to scare and torment the heart of any tortured even more. 

It was cold. 

The howling wind brought the chill of December through the never closed window, causing an icy temperature in the chamber. Blood was likely to freeze in the veins, his own cold breath touched Gandalf's cheeks. 

Chains hung beside the window, of rusty iron, showing signs of frequent use. The wizard shivered at the thought of the many guiltless people that had had to suffer there, being at Sauron's mercy. 'Aragorn had hung there, either.' Gandalf trembled at this, but re-focusing on what he had actually been looking for. His friend.

His glance again found its way back to the window and the soft glow brought by the starlight. Slowly his eyes followed its trace on the walls and at the floor, suddenly tensing. 

"Alas," he breathed out loudly. "Alas!"

Just where the last trace of the luminous shimmer touched the ground, hardly bringing light anymore, there lay a body. 

Or at least it seemed so. Its upper part, the only visible, was waxen white, the other was hidden by dark shadows, swallowing the gleam. Gandalf thought that he could make out the outline of an arm lying on the naked skin. 

Hardly breathing, the wizard drew closer, his steps so slow that he was barely moving at all. "Aragorn," he whispered, "Aragorn, my friend."

But the chamber remained silent, and the waxen body did not answer. 

"Aragorn." Gandalf's voice again, hoarse and quiet. "Aragorn."

The wizard sank on his knees, for the first time realizing that he was right: It indeed was a body, waxen not only in the cold light of the stars. Black hair was covering the back of his head, falling on his shoulders, slightly moving with the icy wind. 

"Aragorn." 

And again no answer came.

The man was lying on his left side, his back towards Gandalf. His upper body was naked, the black leather breeches brutally torn. Aragorn was bare footed, his left arm pillowing his head, but desperately reaching out to touch the light. 

His eyes were closed, an unbelievable expression of peace and relief softening his features. There was no pain evident on his face, mere release. Despite the dried blood staining the corners of his mouth, despite the dark bruises on his cheeks.

"Aragorn." This time something that came as close to a sigh as Gandalf would ever utter.

Gently the wizard touched Aragorn's right upper arm, the one that was laying over his right side, as if wanting to protect this exposed area of his body.

His skin was so white, so cold, so icy. For a short moment merely, Gandalf closed his eyes, looking old and drained. All hope had fled with the night wind, out of the window, broken by Mordor's malice. 

Aragorn was dead.

A tear threatened to leave Gandalf's eyes, but he did not let it fall. Aragorn was dead. His friend had not survived. A man with a heart so pure had left this world.

Slowly the wizard sat down on the floor, crossing his legs, never daring to loose hold of Aragorn's skin. It was still so soft, yet all life had fled.

With an ever so gentle movement the Istari then turned his friend's body around, moving him onto his back, but never would he have him touch the cold ground more often than necessary. No, he took Aragorn in his arms, his upper body coming to rest on the wizard's chest. Gandalf was cradling him like a small child, pressing him against his own body as if trying to warm him. But it was of no use. Aragorn was dead. 

Only now the wizard noticed the terrible wounds on the man's wrists, the welts on his stomach and chest, dried blood covering his whole upper body, arms and feet. There was no single spot on Aragorn's body that had stayed unscathed, had not received a blow, had not been whipped. 

'Such terrible welts can only be caused by most brutal beating.' 

Gently Gandalf stroked across Aragorn's arms, feeling the bones under the man's skin. He was certain that he had gotten hardly anything to eat for the past two weeks, so thin was the once strong warrior. With the pallor of his skin, the slashes on Aragorn's body became even more visible. Real pattern had been 'painted' on his torso, an ugly eye cut in the middle of his chest. Emerging blood had misshaped the clear lines, but it was still easy to make it out.

'They marked you, Aragorn, that was worse than anything else, wasn't it?' This question did not need any answer.

On the men's wrists was hardly enough flesh to cover the white bones lying underneath, the chains had cut him badly. The same were his ankles.

'There was nothing they did not try, was there? Did they pause at all? I do not want to know how long it took you to lose consciousness to forget the pain for a while. Long, certainly, I feel. Alas, I see your wounds and think 'Why could I not do anything to help you?' Did you die from the tortures or did you finally succumb to the darkness and refused to wake again? I will never know. But I feel that you have kept your dignity. Your arm reached out towards the light when I found you, on your face did you wear peace. You were not defeated by the Unnamed, or his servants, you might had even hope left. Otherwise you would not have longed for the soft glow of the stars or the bright rays of the sun.'

With an effort of will, Gandalf averted his eyes from his dead friend and turned them to the window, staring into the cold night. But there a twinkling star caught his gaze and he focused on it, finding relief. But only for a moment.

It was the evening star.

"Alas," Gandalf murmured. 'Undómiel, have you been watching all of your beloved's tortures? His pain? Did you have to? Alas, certainly you caused him even greater anguish by laughing at him with your white face! Ever did he have to think about you, Arwen. What could have tormented him worse? Nothing, I guess. All those hours of hurting and when he finally was left alone, he felt your mocking grin on his skin. Or did he see his hope in you? I do not know. Maybe by gazing at you he sensed that he was not alone, that there were friends who cared about him. Out there.

Do you believe that I am afraid of telling you of Aragorn's death? What will your reaction be, I wonder. Pure despair or will you pretend being strong? I fear that you will loose what Aragorn came to love about you: Your innocence and the inner fire burning in those blue eyes of yours. He often spoke of you, do you know that? In that very moment, 67 years ago, walking through the woods of Rivendell, you captured his heart and until now, you still have occupied every part of it. Certainly will you depart from Middle-earth with your father and your brothers, your lover not returning from a victorious war, and the time of your sailing westward will come soon, I deem. You will not wish to dwell here anymore, memories of him living in each room, in each wall, in each stone of Rivendell. Blissful memories of times that will never come back'

The wizard sighed softly. "And with Arwen the last of her kindred will leave, and gray and joyless will Middle-earth remain behind. The age of the Elves will come to an end, and so will ours either. With them we have lived and with them we will die. And when the Fourth Age will have come to its end, the Fair Kindred, the Ents, the Hobbits, the Dwarfes and the Dúnedain, which once roamed across the plains, will be forgotten and no memory will remain upon the land. Lothlórien and Rivendell will be abandoned and only the wind and the mountains will still remember our breath and spirit."

For some short heartbeats Gandalf pressed Aragorn's cold body even closer, wishing to comfort the dead man. Then he loosened the grip, and with a soft sigh he laid Aragorn on the icy floor, careful and gentle as if not wanting to hurt him further. The man's black hair cascaded down on his shoulders, creating a sharp contrast against his pallor. Some strands lingered on Aragorn's forehead. Lying across his lids, they made him looking vulnerable and young. Absentminded Gandalf noticed that Aragorn's beard had hardly grown in the time of his imprisoning, it was still scarcely more than stubble on his chin and cheeks. Deeply black. 

Gently the wizard intertwined Aragorn's fingers on his stomach, cautiously avoiding to touch the ravaged wrists, and stroked softly across his brow, brushing a dark strand of hair behind his ear. 

'He looks as if already buried,' came to Gandalf's mind, 'so calm, so peaceful. If there were no wounds on his body, you could think that he would merely sleep, waking soon to a fair morning after a night in Arwen's embrace.'

Never even averting his gaze from Aragorn's body the Istari fumbled a white piece of cloth out of a small pocket and opened his water-filled leather bag. With his friend's body being marred with dried blood, he was not able to carry him down to Legolas. It would take away Aragorn's innocence, stealing everything that had remained of the living man in that dead body. 

Quickly Gandalf wetted the fabric with some water, put the bag away, and began washing off the bloody smears. Ever so gently he cleaned Aragorn's brow, wiped across his cheeks, and brushed over the chapped lips, a trace of red staining the white cloth. 

Dark bruises stood sharply on the dead man's throat, telling of choking grips, of desperate attempts to suck precious air into tortured lungs – at the brink of consciousness, his body crying for oxygen.

Again Gandalf poured some water on the cloth, trying to wash the blood off Aragorn's chest, the fatigue reddening fast. Uncountable slashes covered his friend's torso, some deep, others mere scratches that had just sliced the skin. Brushing downwards, the wizard felt broken bones under his hand, ribs that had been cracked in violent beatings and had caused excruciating pain with each intake of breath. Gandalf still felt the urge to wrap leather strips tightly around Aragorn's chest, preventing him from damaging them even more and easing his friend's anguish. 

But the man was dead. He was oblivious to Gandalf's gentle care, and would not mind it either way. Never would he feel any living being's touch again, whether soft or cruel, whether hating or loving. 

Slowly the wizard cleaned Aragorn's arms, pouring some cool water over his forearms. Great amounts of blood had dried there, staining the white skin, having run down from cut veins in tortured wrists. Gandalf could still imagine it being warm, flowing freely, the vital liquid leaving Aragorn's body with each heartbeat, taking his life with it – uncaringly. 

Small pools of red blood had formed next to Aragorn's body, telling of a slow and painful death. After he had finally lost his strength and had collapsed to the floor for one last time, it seemed to have taken hours for him to die, to leave his anguish behind. Certainly had he known that he would not be able to stand up again, that he would die where he had fallen. Aragorn had not even had some strips of cloth to wrap them around the most heavily bleeding slashes, the leather of his leggings was too resistant to be torn into pieces.

'He had to lie there for hours, consciously feeling the life leaving him, knowing that he could do nothing to prevent his death. Alas, he was not even given the mercy of a fast death after days of torture!'

None of the wounds would be life-threatening on its own – if it had been tended to. But the methods of injuring Aragorn had carefully been chosen to inflict as much pain as possible, never to relieve the tortured by dying soon.

However, there were no bloody fingerprints on the surrounding stones, no red smears telling of frantic movements in the throes of death. Aragorn seemed to have given in to his fate, not struggling anymore after he had realized the hopelessness of his situation. Gandalf felt another tear welling up in his eye, threatening to fall. His friend had not even continued to fight, he had surrendered to Sauron's torments, his soul not being able to take the pain any longer. He had died just like he had fallen, maybe just reaching out to touch the last traces of light shining into the chamber. To touch the evening star. 

Gandalf sighed. It was a horrible picture that there was in front of his eyes, and he knew that he would never be able to forget it again. A child of the light that had had to die in the darkness, alone, in great pain, without anyone who had wrapped his arms around him during his last slow intakes of breath, who had given him comfort while his heart refused to go on beating. Maybe he had thought of Arwen, maybe he had even been able to imagine her being at his side, or he just lain there – unable to think anymore, mere hate and anguish in his clear eyes until they had closed to spare Gandalf the terror he would have felt at looking into this lifeless gray. The wizard sighed again. He would not be able to remain here forever, staring at his dead friend's body, he had to return to Legolas waiting outside Barad-Dûr. 

"The Elf has to know what has happened to Aragorn," Gandalf murmured quietly, "he is waiting there anxiously to learn about his friend's fate, and I do not return to tell him. Alas, I do not want to smash his hopes and confirm his worst fears!"

He again looked at Aragorn. Still, the serene and quiet expression on his features made Gandalf wonder. 'Maybe,' he thought almost helplessly, 'I was wrong, and his death was not as dreadful as I am imagining. There is too great peace on his face to have died in mere pain and agony. Was it mere relief to escape the torture?'

Once more pressing Aragorn's body tightly to his chest, the wizard once more lifted his head to look at the evening star twinkling bright in the dark sky. 

'Might you have brought him relief in his last hours, minutes?' appeared in his mind, still trying to deny the thought of his friend dying in greatest suffering. 'Did you make his love appear in front of his inner eye? Made her caressing his face? Brushing through his hair? Easing his thirst with cool water from fair hands? Alas, what would I give had it been like this!'

Taking an almost shaky breath, Gandalf loosened his grip on Aragorn and reached up to his own throat to untie his gray cloak. The Istari could not have stood carrying Aragorn hardly clothed down through the dark passage, through the vast hall with having to look at the reminders of the cruel tortures the man had been enduring. And after all, a hidden part of his mind still told him not to have Aragorn shiver and freeze. It had become cold in the Dark Tower.

Quickly had he undone the few strings fastening it to his neck and taking it ere it could fall to the floor, the wizard ever so gently wrapped it around Aragorn's naked torso, covering the slashes, the welts. The Red Eye, however, did not disappear under the warm fatigue, it still marked the man's body in the most possessive way.

Gandalf inhaled deeply, and then almost slapped himself mentally. He had nearly forgotten the first thing he had wanted to do when having found Aragorn: Giving him back Arwen's token. His hand trembling slightly, the Istari fumbled the man's necklace out of a small pocket, and lifting his friend's head carefully, he slowly fastened it around his neck. The silver pendant grazed Aragorn's chest, resting just above the Red Eye cut into his skin. Light and darkness seemed to duel for a moment, then the shadow appeared to have lost. The Elvish 'A' reflected the starlight, creating a luminous shimmer on Aragorn's chest.

"Your star is with you again," Gandalf said in a low voice, tucking another strand of dark hair behind a pale ear. "It did not leave you. It never would."

With these final words, the Istari put his left arm under Aragorn's back and lifted his upper body, the man's head lolling against the wizard's shoulder. Then placing his other hand in the hollow of Aragorn's knees, Gandalf stood up, breathing heavily. Surprisingly light, his friend was safely in his arms and waited to be returned to the fair world. Smiling sadly at his serene face, Gandalf turned and left the chamber which had brought so much suffering to Aragorn with slow and calm steps.

Never would a living being enter the Dark Tower again. It would decay with the millennia passing until no stone remained to tell of the unbelievable malice that had dwelt there once, long ago.

A/N: Just two more things: First, I would like you to tell me whether you would have preferred to see Aragorn survive, and secondly, if I have met your expectations for this chapter.

Ah, and third *g*: Don't worry, there'll be some another chapters to follow. This is NOT the end!


	17. Confirmation

A/N: The first chapter after the revelation of Aragorn's fate. It's quite short, I'm afraid, and as things are going at this moment, I guess that the next one's gonna be short, either. The story's coming to its end, but I hope that you won't leave in the last three (?) chapters. You all have been with me for so long….*g* and HUGE THANKS.

To be honest, I thought that most of you would prefer Aragorn being dead, but after having read the reviews for "Shattered" I feel that I was wrong. Mhm, so I excuse to all those who wanted Aragorn to be alive, and at the moment I'm toying with the idea of writing sort of an "alternative end" to Alda mi mornië, that means: re-writing "Shattered", so that Aragorn's still alive and then going on with his life as the king of Gondor – but with all those changes such imprisonment and torture would cause in a Man….a slow poisoning of his soul, so to say. What would you think of it? It would be great if you told me your opinions, but as I said I still *toy* with the idea and I haven't made up my mind about it yet.

_Miss Pennyworth: _I'm afraid, but I *must* tell you that Aragorn is dead indeed. There will be no such thing as …. I don't know…. just nothing like "Gandalf was mistaken" or such. I hope I don't disappoint you. Thank you for that absolutely nice review! I *loved* reading it!

_Araphel:_ I'm absolutely sorry that I disappointed you. Your review was the main reason for me to even consider writing an alternative end. Thus I'd truly appreciate if you told me your opinion about it. But, please try to understand, I just couldn't go for such fairy-tale end – meaning that Aragorn was still alive – after all those dark thoughts in my previous chapters. Remember Gandalf thinking about a destroyed Arwen…..

_Snitter: _As you can see I followed your request of getting to know about Legolas. I hope I did it right *g*. And, do not forget to go on with "DoM"….*g*

_dshael, Aralondwen, insane one, Lady Winter, dictionaire: _Sorry that I disappointed you…. but I just thought it would fit better with Aragorn dead. Nevertheless I truly would have preferred to meet your expectations… 

_Julia:_ I'll e-mail you… I promise!

_Durheled:_ Thank you for supporting my idea of the story's end *g*. You were one of three…. Thanks!

So, that was a long Author's note…. Didn't want it to be so long, but now it's enough: Enjoy "Confirmation"!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. (That simply makes it easier.)

_Confirmation_

 "Oh Undómiel, oh evening star, what tidings are you bringing?" 

Legolas was staring into the deeply black sky, having just spotted the bright star in the west. Night had fallen some hours ago, the day disappearing with a beautifully colored sunset, and now he eagerly waited for Gandalf's return. In his liking, the wizard had already been gone for too long.

"Oh Undómiel," the Elf repeated then, almost pleadingly, "I wish for good tidings! The stars are flowering in the sky and the world is fair beyond the borders of Mordor. This night shall not turn into an evil one. Bring us back the man you love, and let us forget the malice of the Dark Age. The return of the King would rejoice any heart in Middle-earth and our own people, Undómiel, could depart with gladness, and sorrow would vanish from our minds. For many thousand years have we dwelt in Arda, delighted by the green woods, the quiet murmur of the wind, the song of the waters. We have witnessed Sauron gaining power only to be overthrown in the Battle of the Last Alliance, we watched the rise and fall of Númenor, the great Men diminishing from the lands, and we perceived the Dark Lord surface again. Now, that He is finally defeated and the greatness of Númenor could be restored under Aragorn's sovereignty, we could sail to Valinor with the knowledge that we have fulfilled our tasks in a decent way. Men would not need our help anymore, Aragorn and his children and grandchildren would teach them our manners, and millennia would have to pass until we would be forgotten. Oh Undómiel, shall your tidings be good! For if they are ill, many of the things our people have been fighting for would prove useless. Elves and Men and Dwarfes would have been slain in vain. Without Aragorn being King we will be forgotten until not even memory will remain to tell of us. The howl of the wind will become sad and gloomy, for no one will understand its murmur. The water will cease to sing, for no Elf will sit there to listen. Alas, my heart cries at these thoughts! Men have not yet learned how to be one with everything, they are merely seeing when looking at something. Only few in whose veins Elven blood is cursing can see and understand. Alas, in each moment of our journey from Rivendell to Tol Brandir I perceived the difference between Boromir and Aragorn! The tramp of Denethor's son, never minding where his feet touched the ground, breaking branches while running through the wood. In Aragorn's soft tread, however, there was our Elvish grace and skill. Twigs never seemed to bother him, he walked the same path as Boromir did, but the branches appeared to yield to him. Alas, he would be the last of Númenor! He shall not be dead!"

"Though I fear it." The Elf added after a short moment, murmuring softly, despair appearing in his voice.

For a tiny second, Legolas felt as if the evening star had blinked at him, but closing his eyes, he quickly disregarded the thought. 

Another hour was slowly dragging on, torturing the Elf in its own way. By now he almost regretted that he had not accompanied Gandalf, then he would have known sooner. This way he just felt so helpless, but also so hopeless. The more time passed, the more he believed that Aragorn could not have survived. The thought grew ever more convincing, ever stronger in his mind. 

'Aragorn must be dead,' he reasoned, 'how could I even assume that the Dark Lord spared him? Certainly did the Unnamed not leave the world without assuring that his greatest rival had died in overwhelming agony! And even if that was the last thing He had done. Letting Aragorn live would have been sort of another triumph the Captains of the West gained, and that He could not have stood. Alas, maybe Aragorn had still been alive at the time Frodo cast the Ring down into the fires of Mount Doom! And then He plunged a knife deep in his heart, just to kill him, even if He had not enough time left to torture his enemy appropriately!`

Suddenly a soft sound of nearing footsteps ripped the Elf out of his thoughts. He almost started, ere he calmed quickly, recognizing the tread: The wizard was finally returning. 

At first Legolas did not even turn his head, sparing himself a tiny moment in which he did not have to know about Aragorn's fate. His keen ears, though, merely heard the heavy breath of one single being: Gandalf's exhausted inhales. Aragorn's deep, slow intakes were not with the wizard. 

Curtly the Elf again glanced to the evening star, now hiding behind wispy clouds, its light dimmed by them. And with that he knew. Slightly he bowed his head westward, acknowledging the fair ere he turned around slowly. 

"Alas," he murmured quietly after the first second had passed, his eyes now calmly resting on the bent wizard who still carried Aragorn's lifeless body in his strong arms. "You have finally returned." His voice was small and soft, and never would anyone know whether his words had been directed to Gandalf or the dead Man.

The Elf leaped off the wall he had still been sitting on, and went slowly over to Gandalf who had not moved since reappearing in the dark gate leading into the Barad-Dûr. Legolas' features bore the calm grief of the Elves, no tear was in his eyes. But deep sadness stood in them, and such strong suffer which Gandalf had never before seen in any other of the Fair Kindred.

Gently Legolas stroked over Aragorn's pale brow, then cupping a bruised cheek, he pressed a soft kiss on his friend's forehead. His lips were met by icy cold. 

Grieving he lifted his head to look into Gandalf's eyes. "He suffered," he stated, not the least questioningly. "His soul bears the torture of many days."

The wizard merely nodded. He could not bring himself to tell the Elf of the various wounds that covered Aragorn's body, the Eye cut into his chest. Maybe Legolas would never get to know, or he would tell him when years had passed and he made himself ready to sail into the west. Only then the pain might have diminished to a mere sting in his heart, now it was as if it was aflame, being eaten up from the inside.

But the Elf needed no further confirmation. He could guess from what he had seen and it tore his heart into two pieces. Aragorn had been his friend, but such death he would wish to none of his enemies. Two weeks at Sauron's mercy, and then dying alone, abandoned by everything that had a tingle of life in it. Merely cold walls to watch the last intakes of breath, the shuddering rise and fall of a dying chest. 

He grieved deeply, nothing had ever caused such pain before. No dead hunter in his youth in Mirkwood, no slain Elf on the battlefield against Sauron. Legolas felt an unknown wetness well up in his eyes – a tear, he realized.

Again he looked down on Aragorn's serene face, taking in every detail of his features, and in his eyes was overwhelming sorrow. Abruptly then, the Elf turned and went the few steps to the place where the two horses stood. Nothing kept them anymore in this dark land and as soon as possible he wanted to leave Mordor. Aragorn had not survived, but he deserved to be returned to the fair countries, to be brought to Minas Tirith, his own city which he should have entered in glory.

Taking Arod's bridle, Shadowfax followed him willingly as Legolas took them over to Gandalf. The wizard was still standing at the door, not bringing himself to move. Faintly shaking his head, Gandalf denied the unspoken question in Legolas' eyes: No, he himself would take Aragorn in front of him. No other would be able to refuse him that.

Nodding curtly, the Elf reached out to hold Aragorn for the time Gandalf needed to mount his horse. The Man was surprisingly light in his arms, and in a way it comforted Legolas to touch his friend's skin for one last time. He was so cold, but it sort of confirmed him of his death being the truth. There was no chance of life in this icy body, no warm blood cursing through veins. He indeed was dead.

A grim smile was on the Elf's fair face when he lifted his head to meet Gandalf's eyes, and his own was mirrored in the Istari's. The wizard was sitting on Shadowfax' back, holding the reins in his right. His left supported Aragorn's back while Legolas raised him to place him in front of Gandalf. 

The man finally came to sit on the horse, his head falling back on the wizard's shoulder. He looked like a small child that had tired after a long day and had fallen asleep in his fathers arms: Young and vulnerable, the black hair cascading on his shoulders only deepening this impression. Gandalf wrapped his left arm around Aragorn's stomach, pressing him tightly to his own body.

"I will not leave you alone, my friend," he murmured into Aragorn's ear, "I could not be at your side in your last hours, and this grieves me deeply. Alas, one must kill me to make me lose hold on you!"

Almost violently Gandalf spurred Shadowfax in a fast gallop, only wanting to depart from Barad-Dûr. The image of the Dark Tower rising into the sky was something his eyes did not have to see, it would always be in his mind.

Legolas leaped on Arod's back, following his both friends, a heavy weight of sorrow on his heart. For days had he feared the worst, but having it confirmed hardly made it easier to bear. Aragorn was not anymore.

A/N: Did you think about my idea of writing an alternative end? How would you like it? Should I forget it at once? Should I attempt writing it? And last, but not least: How did you like this chapter? 


	18. The King is coming home

A/N: another quite short chapter, but the next will make it up, I promise. This one's just there to close the circle that had begun somewhere at the beginning of "Alda mi mornië" and I had thought my story to be incomplete, if I had left it out. So, you can expect one more chapter, but before that, enjoy this one!

I still don't know if I'll write an alternative end, because I just don't know if I should change my original storyline in such way. Normally I just start with a story, and then let it develop itself – with just a very rough plan in my mind. Writing an alternative end would mean that I am not completely satisfied with the story as it is now – and, I have to admit – I am fairly pleased with it at the moment. It's my first long story and I didn't think it to go on so well and fast. I'm yet undecided……… the chances for an alternative end might be about 40:60 at the moment. So, don't be disappointed when there will be none, but do not think that there's no chance for it!

Again: Huge thanks to all who have reviewed so far! I hope you'll enjoy this chapter!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything!

_The King is coming home_

It was a short time after midnight, December 11th would not dawn for hours, as Legolas, Gandalf and Aragorn left the Dark Tower to take on their long way towards Minas Tirith. 

Two days ago they had set out from the city, and during their ride their hearts had been in a constant turmoil of hope and despair. But now merely the latter had survived, and Legolas could hardly turn his head from the wizard and the lifeless figure riding in front of him. A heavy weigh lay on his and Gandalf's shoulders: They had to bring the tidings of the death of the last Númenorean to Minas Tirith and so never would a king of that line sit in the high-throne below Elendil's wise gaze.

Nevertheless they ever urged their mounts to go on quickly and so the sun was just about to rise when the three had already reached the peak of Cirith Ungol where they had stood yesterday, two hours before noon. It seemed an eternity ago. None of the two riders glanced at the fires of Orodruin still visible in the distance, they did not see the dead Orcs framing their way. Legolas had fixed his eyes on Arod's mane, intently staring at the fine fur covering the horse's neck. He did not want to watch Gandalf. The wizard had not moved even a tiny bit since they had left Barad-Dûr: He still was clutching Aragorn with his left, the man's head resting on his shoulders. Only from time to time Gandalf clenched the fingers lying on his friend's stomach, a gesture of quiet wrath and fury.

No rest did they allow themselves until they had passed Minas Morgul in the late afternoon, and even then it was just a short one. Although both of them felt weary and drained, they longed to leave that barren malicious country. They had walked it for too long already. Its blackness was nagging on their minds, leaving no room for pleasant thoughts which would have come difficultly even if the lands had flowered beautifully. A cold wind was in the air, coming from the west, and enormous gray clouds were gathering over the Ephel Duath. The sky above Gondor was no longer visible, it had been snowing constantly since the morning Legolas and Gandalf had left Minas Tirith. In Mordor, however, mist was blocking the revived sun, and in the night the stars seemed distant and their light cold.

Legolas shivered. Soon would they reach Ithilien, where they would be able to breath more easily, and from there it would merely take some short hours to arrive at the city. Blackness would stop to threaten them. 

It had already gotten dark when the two travelers finally set foot on the ground of Ithilien, and at once a heavy weigh seemed to fall off their shoulders. Absently each of them exhaled deeply, as if to get rid from the dark air of Mordor. For almost three days they had had to breath it, but now the cold and wet air of Ithilien tasted like fresh delicious water from a spring in Rivendell.  

Quickly the bridges of Osgiliath were left behind, the Anduin ceased to roar in their ears. The Pelennor Fields were stretching in front of them, the first lights of the city already visible in this clear night. They were so bright that the snow was almost reflecting them, creating a luminous shimmer around the two riders. They had drawn their hoods into their faces, for the wind was bitingly cold, but still each of them saw the two torches burning on top of the White Tower. It was a sign of old: Minas Tirith was mourning the death of one of its stewards: Lord Denethor.

Just having ascended a gentle slope of a hill, Legolas and Gandalf halted their horses for a short moment and stared at the city, thinking of the war it had survived, of the sorrow filling its streets. The fire of the torches looked like stars standing low in the sky, and peace was in the air. The night was quiet and if there had not been any snow, it would have been completely dark. 

 "Their grief will merely increase," Gandalf then murmured softly, his eyes resting on Aragorn's serene features, "when the tidings of the death of the last Númenorean king will have spread. For hundreds of years and many generations have they been waiting for Elendil's and Isildur's heir to return, and now he comes back: Dead, being carried by the wizard who had promised that once the King would re-claim his throne and unify the peoples of Middle-earth."

He paused for a short moment, wondering if he should continue to utter the thoughts in his mind with audible words.

"In glory and praise," the wizard whispered then, "you should have entered Minas Tirith after your victory on the Pelennor Fields. Andúril should have hung on your side, your mail stained with black Orcish blood. Light should have been in your eyes, the fire of a victorious battle, wisdom to guide your people and knowledge that your Queen was on her way from Rivendell to your city. Aragorn, now you are lying in my arms, your skin is cold and your chest does not rise anymore. Your heart has stopped beating and the expression on your features will never change again. Never will anyone be able to look into your eyes once more, everything that was you lay in them! You return to Minas Tirith without glory, without praise! The Dark Lord took everything away. Andúril is lost, you do not even have clothes. Bright mail should have covered your body, but the only thing I could give to you was a gray cloak, weatherstained and worthily of no King of Men. Alas, Aragorn, you return in a night so black, and merely the stars are guiding your way. Your spirit is not among the living people anymore, and the only light on you is the necklace of Arwen. Alas, she will be broken at my tidings! Alas, why had no better fate been waiting for you! You should have become the greatest king ever, wise and powerful, and with you the Fourth Age should have begun in peace and concord! No steward will be necessary anymore, for no descendant of Isildur continues to dwell in Middle-earth. With you the line of kings has come to an end, and the old nobility disappeared from the lands! No longer will any sovereign of Gondor be able to confirm his might with having descended from Elros, brother of Elrond Half-elven, and Elendil, who overthrew Sauron, will no longer be among his forefathers.  Alas, the Scepter of Annúminas and the Winged Crown of the Kings who had come over the Sea will merely be a token of kingship and will not be borne by anyone in the future times, for they are heirlooms of Elendil and Isildur, and whom is not of their blood shall not be allowed to decorate himself with them! You, Aragorn, should have been crowned in a ceremony of great glory and the steward's office should have ended after 26th generations of waiting! But alas, fate would have it different! Now another king has to be chosen, for the rightful heir is dead without having re-claimed his throne! Alas, alas, the war is won but the king has not survived!"

And suddenly, just as Gandalf had finished, one of the torches on top of the White Tower began to flicker, the light getting unsteady, and it finally went out! Only the other flame was burning as brightly as before, but where the second had sent its light into the darkness, a mere black spot remained.

Minas Tirith seemed to honor the returning king with something that touched any heart deeper than any spoken word would have been able to. 

Legolas reached out with his left hand as if wanting to catch the fleeing light, a silent and pleading gesture to keep the old spirit that left Gondor with the extinguished flame.

"The fire of old, the fire that had ever burned in Aragorn's eyes, has just disappeared," the Elf murmured sadly, "and the City of Men lost its light. But lo!" he suddenly cried with almost joy in his fair voice. "Gandalf! The other torch continues to shine and the flame of hope has not vanished! Ever will it shine on top of the White Tower and no longer shall it be a token of grief! From this day on it will represent the hope that is still there, even if the rightful king sacrificed himself and has died!"

And at these words Gandalf lifted his head again to look at the burning torch. A new fire was in his eyes, and they seemed to reflect the shine coming from the White Tower.

"You are right," he said aloud, the power being back in his voice. "The shadow has lost and the fire of hope has won! And with it there shall live the memory of the greatest king ever, although he never bore the crown!"

A/N: Oh yes, if you have any questions about my story – timeline, the characters' reasons for acting in a certain way, or something else -, ask in a review, for the next chapter will definitely be the last one, and I would gladly answer your questions!


	19. The Gray Havens

A/N: So, here it is: Chapter 19 and last. *A long one again* *g* The story finally *has* come to its end, but I may tell you that I already work on the "alternative ending"…. only two chapters are written so far, but I at least want to write some others before I'll post it on ff.net. – 'cause I'm still not convinced if I'll ever finish it. And I wouldn't post just a part of an unfinished story – I don't think that that would be fair to any reader.

As you'll see soon, this chapter is called "The Gray Havens" and one year is supposed to have passed since "The King is coming home." I hope that you'll like it – and that I haven't forgotten anyone whose thoughts about Aragorn and the future of Middle-earth might be interesting. I tried to write it in a kind of different style than the chapters before, but I don't know if I have managed…. It just should be written a little more distant…. you'll see why.

Finally, I want to thank all of my reviewers. Each single word encouraged me to go on, and often your critics were helpful and I appreciated them a lot. If I were able to, I'd hug you all, especially those who have left so many reviews that I don't know how to thank them. I guess that it would be best to review all of their stories, and in the coming weeks I'll try that…. but I can't promise that I'll be as fast as I want to be. So it might take a long time to find my reviews for your stories….. 

_So, thank you: Goddess Morrigan, stacey, Nili, zinc5, Alyce, LT, Abigail da Jedi, Cailinn *g* (thanks for… you know), Mona, whit, alawa (you encouraged me greatly), Whitney, AJ Matthews, willie, S, Elenil, singe aliene, Julia (huge, huge thanks and I hope we'll continue to write each other….), aralondwen (I'd still like to read the story you once told me about), Lady MR, Kara Angelle, Lita of Jupiter, arynetrek, Snitter in Rivendell (you truly reviewed each chapter…wow….thanks….great), Lady Winter (you were great!), Miss Pennyworth (thanks for all those great reviews), Durheled (thanks for your encouragement), dshael, Araphel, insane one, dictionaire, dark angel_

I hope I haven't forgotten anyone… if so, you must know that I'm incredibly sorry about that!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. (But this time I wrote one song myself – it's not good, I know. The one about Elessar, I mean…*g*)

Enjoy! The last chapter of  "Alda mi mornië – Tree in the Darkness"!!!

_The Gray Havens_

Merry and Pippin, Frodo and Sam, Gimli and Legolas, Gandalf and Faramir, Celeborn and Galadriel, Elrond and Arwen.

They all had gathered at the Gray Havens, a white ship waiting on the shore to leave Middle-earth and sail westward to Valinor, beyond the end of the world and where time ceased to exist. Its sails were blown by the wind, waves rolling onto the sandy bank. 

Spring had come and gone again, the fair sun of the summer had shone on Middle-earth and now the cool winds of the early fall were blowing across the countries. Nine months had passed since the night when Gandalf and Legolas had looked upon the burning torches at the White Tower in Minas Tirith, and many things had happened in the meantime. Great wailing had arisen among the Lords of Men, and the people had mourned for Aragorn. In honor he had been buried side by side with his ancestors and his grave was visited frequently. The Gondorians had not even seen their king once, but they felt for him as if he had been their ruler for many decades. A white tree flowered above his tomb and it blossomed during the entire year.

But now the Third Age was finally over and the last of the High Elves were about to leave Middle-earth. Their time was lost and Men were ruling over the lands. The Fair Kindred knew that it would do no good if they would linger east the Sea any longer, fate was now in the hands of the Weaker Race. But they had come to trust them to handle things well, and they left Middle-earth with peace in their hearts. The newly chosen king of Gondor and Arnor had proved wise and his decisions had shown that he would care for the country and the people dwelling there. 

Faramir, son of Denethor, had become king. In a cold February night Gandalf had returned from Rivendell to Minas Tirith and had asked him if he wanted to bear the crown of Gondor. At first the young man had been stunned, but after many explanations from Gandalf he had agreed. Faramir the First was loved by his people and a close friendship with Éomer of Rohan had improved the relation between the two kingdoms even more. The king was respected by all Men, and the Hobbits were pleased about Gandalf's decision: In the war they had come to like the son of Denethor and as long as he let them live their own life, they would honor him. The Elves had silently questioned the wizard's choice, but they had come to terms with it after he had told them that Arwen, whom he had asked first, had refused to become Queen of Gondor. 

Indeed, Gandalf had talked to her about this matter, but she had rejected it at once. The fair daughter of Elrond had merely said 'Either Queen with him, but never without him'. 

Aragorn's death had broken her heart.

After Gandalf had told her about her beloved's death she had locked herself in her chamber for several days, and no one had been able to catch sight of her in this time. She had grieved deeply, and her mourning was not overcome yet. Even now, standing at the shores of the Gray Havens, her face was a waxen mask with a frozen expression of total indifference written on it. No emotion was displayed on her features and never had one seen her with tears in her eyes. She had not cried openly, but her joyful nature was gone, and since the last January no one had caught her smiling. She had separated herself from this world, being there physically but her soul dwelt on memories, and before her inner eye Aragorn was still with her, walking in the gardens of Rivendell, or kissing her between the flowers on the slopes of Cerin Amroth. Nothing mattered anymore, and there had been moments in which she had wished herself dead as well. Maybe she would then meet Aragorn again, or at least she would not have to think about him anymore. 

The fairest of her people had lost her fire, and no one had yet been able to rekindle it.

Gandalf sighed softly. She would now depart from Middle-earth, together with her father, Celeborn, Galadriel, Frodo and the wizard himself. Legolas had chosen to stay for a while, he had not yet become tired of the lands east of the Sea. But the entire Fellowship save Boromir, whose boat was said to have been seen floating in the Sea, had come to the Gray Havens to say good-bye to Gandalf and whose who departed with him.

"Why?" 

This soft mutter made the wizard turn his head to his right and there Pippin, Merry and Sam stood. The three had taken each other's hands, and tears were streaming down their faces. None of them understood why Frodo had to leave with the Elves, and why they could not accompany him. Together they had been through such great ordeals, but now when peace had finally settled, they were torn apart: Frodo went to the west and they had to remain in Middle-earth, living their every-day life without any interruptions. 

Merry now also turned his head and met Gandalf's eyes. A sad attempt to smile followed, but it could not conceal the sorrow and pain in his eyes. The wizard as well tried to look more cheerfully, but he also failed. 

'Why, Gandalf?' Merry thought, not daring to say it aloud once more, for he knew that the wizard had no answer, either. 'Why do we have to stay behind and leave Frodo after everything we have managed together?' 

All of the Hobbits shared more or less the same thoughts. Yes, Frodo had borne the Ring for almost the whole time, but they had accompanied him as far as they had been able to, and without Sam Frodo might never have been able to reach the summit of Mount Doom to throw It away. No one had given them an explanation that truly satisfied them, they merely had to be content with the things being like they were.

Not even Gandalf had spoken to them more than just a few sentences since they had first seen him again after he had left them on the road to the Shire to visit Tom Bombadil. And neither Sam nor Merry and Pippin wanted to asked the Elves about being able to sail with them. All of them they had met before, but they seemed changed: Elrond looked even mightier as he had almost two years ago in Rivendell, yet his eyes were still unreadable and he appeared to conceal something. 'Grief for Aragorn,' Merry supposed, 'at least he was to become his son-in-law.' The Hobbit wiped some of his tears away, a desperate gesture to hide the sorrow he still felt at thinking about their former guide. He never had seen the tortured body of the Man, but the shock in Legolas' and Gimli's eyes after they had returned from keeping a night's watch at Aragorn's side to honor the dead King, had told him enough. Pippin had perceived this either, but the two Hobbits had never talked about it to each other. The wounds were still too fresh, and old scars would only begin to bleed again. 

"Aragorn," Merry softly murmured, "and now also Frodo and Gandalf." 'Why cannot stay everything as it was? Why can we not live our life in the Shire in peace, without being troubled by anything? Freedom returned to Middle-earth, yet all who took part to achieve it are leaving! Legolas will soon depart either, and Gimli will go with him, I guess. And then only we three Hobbits will remain! Gandalf leaves, and Elrond. In Arwen there is no light anymore, and the Lady of the Wood and Lord Celeborn abandon Lothlórien, fairest of all lands.'

A soft palm was suddenly laid on his shoulder, and Merry looked up to meet King Faramir's gaze. The young man smiled, and a gentle light was in his eyes.

"Do not fear, my friend," he said in a low voice, almost whispering, "you will not be alone, for the Shire is saved, and there nothing shall be changed. Gondor will not intervene, and you shall keep your own freedom. Yet may I tell you that you may ever come to Minas Tirith if you feel the wish to do so, and you three shall be granted everything you desire. An everlasting friendship between my house and the Halflings shall be begun in these days, and as long as my line will rule, you will be welcomed in the City of Men. Not ever shall you be alone, and if you need aid, you merely need to send a messenger. I know that you think that I cannot replace Aragorn in your hearts, and I do not wish such, for I see that he was special, and that you were close to him, but I shall attempt to handle things in his liking, and friends of his shall be friends of mine. Ever remember this, Meriadoc Brandybuck, Peregrin Took and Samwise Gamgee! Gondor will always welcome you and your children!"

The three Hobbits smiled among their tears, and they felt reassured, for they knew now that they would not be left alone. There would ever be someone who cared for them, and although Faramir was right and he never would be able to take over the place Aragorn had in their hearts, they were fond of him. There was something about that young man that made him alike to the Ranger, and this was not only the dark hair and the eyes of gray. There was more to it: A gentle voice, always finding the right words to calm or rouse when there was the need, and also some manners about Faramir resembled those they had discovered in Aragorn's attitude. Would they not know it better, they had thought Faramir had been raised in Rivendell as well. 

Pippin again turned his head to glance at the young king, but Faramir had straightened himself and looked westward over the Sea. A distant expression was in his eyes, although his hand was still lying on Merry's shoulder and the last fall-leaves of the trees were brushing against his head and neck. In this moment he resembled Aragorn more than ever before, and Pippin perceived the same nobility he had discovered in the Ranger. It was almost as if the dead king had come to life again to accompany his foster-father and his beloved Arwen to the shores which lay beyond mortal reach.

'Alas, Aragorn Elessar Telcontar,' the newly chosen King of Gondor mused while gazing out into the west, watching the foam caused by the roaring waves, 'you have left me an office that I never wished to get. Truly, I know that someone has to rule the people of Gondor, and maybe I even was the most likely choice, but I never even wanted to become steward! And now I am King! Alas, I did not get the chance to meet you, but certainly you would have done better. The tales I was told of by anyone who had the luck – I indeed have to say that – to know you, speak of a noble man who cared for his friends more than for himself. You would have become a great King, greater than any of your sires, be it Elendil or any other. The Winged Crown would have better fitter on your head than on mine, and the Scepter of Annúminas now lies in the Silent Houses, the Rath Dínen, since I would not be able to bear it. Sometimes the weight of the Winged Crown is almost crushing me, the wise gaze of Elendil's statue resting on me when I sit on your throne, and it lies heavily on my heart. Alas, Elessar, you have left me a kingdom to guide and I do not feel comfortable with it. For many generations our people have hoped for one of the Kings of Old to return, and when finally the Ring was found again, and Andúril was forged anew, their hearts rejoiced that the reign of the Stewards would finally be ended. Yes, we have only been stewards and although many of us behaved like the kings they were to represent, we have never been of that high line and the blood of Númenor does not run through our veins. Eärendil's line is lost, and his last children are leaving Middle-earth right now: Elrond departs and his daughter with him, and then none of the High-Elves will dwell in Middle-earth any longer. Alas, Elessar, you have ever been our hope, our green tree in the darkness. For all the years it has been there, starting to blossom beautifully in the times of need. Our tree… our tree of hope. But instead of growing fruits, it withered and died, and now there is no one who finds joy in staring at the dead branches. Our tree does not live anymore… and I have become king of Gondor. Truly, I have the respect of all people and they do obey to my orders, but so far I have only led a small battalion of warriors and I do not know how to care for everyone's need and not to forget something important. There are so many things which have to be tended to, so much that has to be looked for… After all, Gondor is a large realm, stretching from the far South to the far North and I ought to be everywhere at the same time. Messengers are coming each single day, concerning me with things of greatest differences and I do not see how to treat them all likewise. All matters are significant, but in most I have no experience and yet, although there are men in Gondor who know about them, I would like to care for them myself. Alas, how greatly do I miss my liberty! I cannot roam through the woods any longer: Gondor cannot lose another king, and there are still Orcs hiding in the forests of Ithilien and they would rejoice in killing the sovereign of Men. Only now I can understand that my father got bitter! When being younger, listening to tales of some older people, I could not believe that he once was a man with joy in his heart and without showing his lust for power so clearly. I thought they would lie to me. Only do I hope that I will not become like he was.'

Faramir closed his eyes, a green tree suddenly appearing in his mind. The young man shivered in the cold western breeze, but when he strained his ears, he thought that he could hear the song his people had sung at Elessar's funeral. The cries of many men and women were in the wind, lingering in the world, and would not cease. 

_Elessar, Elessar,_

_Defeater of Sauron_

_So noble, so great._

_You died in the shadow,_

_In your heart mere despair._

_You cared for the people,_

_Whose King you were._

_Elessar, Elessar,_

_Savior of Middle-earth._

_You withstood the Lord_

_In a prison so dark._

_A will, stronger than pain,_

_Was in your heart._

_Elessar, Elessar,_

_Heir of Kings,_

_Raised by the Fair,_

_Hope for mortal Men._

_Your life was devoted to us,_

_And your death fulfilled your Quest._

_Elessar, Elessar,_

_Victor against darkness._

_Your tale shall live on,_

_A praise in song,_

_Passed on from father to son._

_You never shall die,_

_Elessar, Elessar,_

_Your breath shall live on in the eternal wind._

Faramir faintly shook his head. These words had only come too true. Everywhere in Gondor and Minas Tirith people were still mourning for Elessar like they had known him for many years, like he had been their king for decades. They grieved deeply for someone they did not even know, had not seen him for one single time. Knowing him to be descended from Elendil and being the rightful king of Gondor was enough for them. 

Many tears had been shed on that cold December day, when Elessar's body had been buried next to the greatest of his sires. A tree had been planted above his grave, almost at once it had started to blossom. White were its blooms, and the remnants of the Fellowship were reminded of the beautiful _niphredil_ growing in Lothlórien, in the gardens of the Lady Galadriel. The resemblance was almost overwhelming, and Frodo had wept at Aragorn's tomb, remembering the ease and tenderness he had felt in the Man while walking on the gentle hill of Cerin Amroth. 

Frodo had already entered the ship, he was no longer able to stand the sight of his friends standing lonely on the shore, weeping. He himself was crying, either. It hurt to leave them behind, although he knew that he would not find peace in Middle-earth anymore, the wounds he had taken in the fight against Sauron were too painful and everlasting to be ever overcome. Each 13th of March and each 6th of October he was ill and the Black Shadow, that was defeated, seemed to reappear to cloud Frodo's mind. The Ring and the fight for it against Gollum at the crater of Orodruin had taken away his cheerfulness, and he could not find joy even in the green meadows of the Shire. Sometimes it felt as if the poison of Shelob was still cursing through his veins, and the wound he had received on Weathertop would never heal completely. Not even Elrond had managed to cure him, the use of _athelas_ had been in vain.

The Hobbit sighed. Sam was more than a brother to him, Merry and Pippin were as close as friends could be, and deeply in his heart he wanted them to accompany him although he understood that it was impossible. He stood at the ship's railing and looked across the Sea. There was no horizon, only water and waves, and no clouds gathered in the west, but far away gentle mists veiled one's sight. The Elves did not want to have other people – mortals – be able to see Valinor, the Undying Lands where many of the Fair Kindred had already sailed. Many of the very proud and many of the very fair. Celebrian, wife of Elrond and mother of Arwen, had been dwelling there for more than five hundred years now, and her husband longed to see her again. He had merely stayed in Middle-earth for he knew that fate demanded him to remain. Otherwise Aragorn might have been slain long ere he had grown to manhood, or he might never have learned to fight in the Elvish way which had been useful on his long and perilous journeys through entire Middle-earth. 

Frodo's smile was grim. While he had sought to destroy the Ring in the fires of Mount Doom, Aragorn had been suffering cruelly only hours away. He had not known it, and neither had Sam, but still he wished that he could have helped his friend. Or at least might have brought to him the tidings of the defeat of Sauron. 

'He did not know it,' the Hobbit realized suddenly. 'He died without knowing that Sauron had lost. Alas, alas, his death must have been pure despair!'

Gandalf had merely told the Hobbits that Aragorn's life had ended in anguish, more about that the wizard had not managed to utter. Frodo recalled that Gandalf had acted strangely after he had returned from Mordor, and Legolas as well had not been his normal self. Both had hardly spoken, and if, then only the most necessary things, and both had also sought solitude. They had not liked to be disturbed, and had almost gotten angry if another had dared to interrupt their thoughts. 

Yet, as far as Frodo had seen now, the wizard and the Elf had retained their former behavior, and he was relieved by that. Never had he tried to imagine what things had been able to influence the two so much that they lost their stoic composure. He was only certain that it must be beyond his own imagination, and he had seen a lot on this journey from the Shire to Mordor!

Again Frodo shook his head faintly, cocking it to his right. There, standing in the shadow of the blown sails, he caught sight of two other figures leaning at the railing, looking out over the Sea. Both were tall, and their clothes seemed to be of pure white. The wind made their hair stream, and then Frodo knew: Gold were one's locks, and the other's hair fell silver, yet mingled with a hint of gold, on his shoulders: Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn, who had forsaken Lothlórien, and went over the Sea to meet their daughter again. Their age had passed, and they knew that they could not linger in Middle-earth anymore. The Three Rings of the Elves had lost their power, and their bearers were drawn towards Valinor. On Galadriel's finger there glinted Nenya, wrought of _mithril_, and Elrond had Vilya, mightiest of the Three, in his keeping. And for the first time Frodo had ever seen, Gandalf showed his Ring openly: Narya the Great and the stone upon it was as red as fire. He had received it from Círdan who had thought it to be of more use to the wizard than to himself. But now the three Rings of the Elves would pass over the Sea, and since the One and the Seven and the Nine were destroyed none would remain in Middle-earth any longer.

'What are the Lord and the Lady thinking?' Frodo wondered, for a minute forgetting his own grief. 'For thousands of years have they dwelt in Middle-earth. They have seen all the changes, felt the power of their people diminishing while Men grew more and more powerful. But now they leave. What will become of Lothlórien, I wonder. The Lord and the Lady themselves were the trees, the grass, and the water. The land is nothing without them, for each being lived on their breath. Alas, the birds will cease to sing, and the Mellyrn will die. _Elanor and niphredil_ will bloom no more east of the Sea. And yet, they are leaving…'

Suddenly feeling the intense eyes of the Lady burning on his skin, the Hobbit turned his head, only to catch her looking at him. A gentle twinkle was in her blue depths, but only for an instant, ere she slowly averted her gaze again to stare across the Sea as if wanting to penetrate the mists veiling Valinor.

Deeply did she inhale the autumn breeze playing with her hair. Her husband's white robes were brushing against her hands lying on the railing, and looking at him, she gently covered his fingers with her own. He met her gaze, a loving smile on his lips, only to turn his hand and enclose her smaller fingers. Softly his thumb stroked over her cold skin, making her shiver under his touch. Warmth was seeping through her, warmth coming from someone of whom she knew that he would never leave her, no matter what lay ahead of them. It had been difficult for him to abandon Lothlórien, but he had not even questioned her why she wanted to go. Ever had he sensed her needs, and although he never had borne a Ring of Power, he had felt that the Three Keepers had to pass over the Sea and depart from Middle-earth. In his mind he had not even toyed with the thought to stay. 

"I amar prestar aen. Han mathon ne nen. Han mathon ne chae. A han nostron ned wilith."

Galadriel's soft whisper was almost inaudible, the wind carrying away the words, yet Celeborn could guess what his wife had meant to say.

"The world is changed," he repeated. "I feel it in the water. I feel it in the earth. I smell it in the air." A short pause followed. "I do so either," he added then, quietly as well.

Not even glancing at him Galadriel did not reply to this, and so Celeborn fell silent either. The wind was howling in their ears, yet never so cruel as it had in the autumn before – when the Black Breath had prepared for its final assault, but neither so gentle like it had sounded in Lothlórien. There the wind had sung, not howled – unlike here. Even the Gray Havens had not remained unscathed and Elves who had departed centuries ago had been able to listen to harps being played during the crossing, and the water carrying the ship had told tales of the Undying Lands.

'The world has changed,' Galadriel thought once more, a silver tear appearing in her eye, 'I can feel it. So deeply.  The wind has ceased to sing, its soft murmur disappeared in the time. It cannot talk anymore. Its howl brings coldness and fear. Even my Lord shivers in the breeze. Lord Celeborn, whitest among the white. I can feel his warmth as he is standing beside me, enclosing my hand. His right lying on the railing, supporting himself more than ever before. He senses it either, he said. Even in Lothlórien, where the Mellyrn still flower, has the wind become silent, and the water has not spoken to us for long. With Dol Guldur assaulting the Golden Wood our land has lost its spirit, and since the Three have lost their power, I cannot give it back. For the first time in many thousand years will the upcoming spring bring no new _elanor_ and _niphredil_, and the flowers on Cerin Amroth will wither and die. The Mellyrn will not lose their leaves, and no golden shimmer will cover the ground, singing in soft voices when Elves tread the hidden paths.'

A tender squeeze of Celeborn's fingers almost startled Galadriel. Lifting her head quickly, she was met by her husband's soft gaze. The Elf, however, merely inclined his head to his right, indicating Galadriel to look there. A hint of sadness stood in his blue depths. 

A lone figure was just going aboard, as well clad in shining white. The last of those who would depart over the Sea left the shores of Middle-earth, a ring of red fire on his hand.

"Mithrandir," Celeborn murmured, feeling his wife nod as she was standing in front of him, his arms wrapped around her waist, her head leaning against his shoulder. For long had they not shared such intimacy, the upcoming evil in the east had created an unfamiliar distance between them. 

"Fate has hurt him," Galadriel sighed. "The death of the King of Men has cast a shadow upon his heart, and it will not yield. I fear, that even Valinor may not make him forget the pain. His suffering has been too great."

The wizard's white cloak was streaming with the wind, as was his beard. Somehow he did no longer look like the powerful Istari he was, the might which had surfaced during the war was gone again. Greater than ever he resembled an old Man, bent by age and misery of a long, hard life.

Staring at his remaining friends, Gandalf gripped the railing of the ship, his knuckles turning white. To create freedom in Middle-earth had been his task, and he had fulfilled that, but nevertheless could his heart not be glad. It refused to leave the new king and Men behind, deeming that they would be in need of guidance of wisdom for long decades or centuries. But his mind told him that he had to go. The last of the Eldar left the East, and Círdan would finally depart from the shores where he had dwelt for long millennia. Ever had the wise Elf said that he would take the last ship, and now he was ready to go. If Gandalf would not leave with him, he would be doomed to remain in Middle-earth until the world would be broken at the end of time.

'And still,' a quiet voice spoke in the Istari's mind, 'you would prefer to stay in the East until some generation of Men would have perished, reassuring that the legacy of the Firstborn would not be lost, vanished out of memory. The life-span of mortals too short to remember things which have happened mere centuries ago, events in the past are forgotten easily. Merely tales remind them of the great battle at the feet of Orodruin, and even these are blurred, parts are missing. In the minds of Elrond and Celeborn you would be able to read each second of these long years the siege of Mordor lasted! Only memory can prevent from repeating the same mistakes, and there will come a time when Sauron will not be remembered anymore, making the same events happening again: Once more will evil men or spirits arise, treason and fear will be spread, and people will die fighting against each other. And then there will be only Men, none of the Eldar remains and the Valar will send the Istari no more. Being on their own, mortals have to keep freedom, refuse malice. Alas, a little guidance would be of great use! Yet I cannot stay here, the Valar are calling me into the West!

Indeed I would feel better when there would be one king of longer life than Faramir, living in the way of the Elves. The Eldar had had a long time to learn, and they have become wise. Those who have survived the First and Second Age have come to treasure liberty, teaching their children in the old ways. Alas, there should have been more Elf-friends among Men! The Dúnedain are a mere shadow of their old might and power, the only one who was of pure Númenorean blood, resembling Elendil as if the old king himself had returned from death, raised by the Elves, is dead and his body is lying in the cold earth of Minas Tirith while his spirit has departed from Middle-earth and cannot be found anymore. Mandos' halls are not open for mortal Men, and only Elves walk there under the light of the Silmaril after their death in battle.'

A sudden shiver surprising him Gandalf sighed, longing for the warm light of the summer-sun. Middle-earth had been dark and cold for too long. Truly, the last year had been a distant image of the days of old – ere Morgoth and Sauron had tried to achieve rule over the world, but yet the Istari was suddenly looking forward to the eternal beauty of Valinor beyond the circles of the world. He had to admit that he had become tired, the fight against Sauron had taken its toll. 

'The Undying Lands might heal my pain,' he thought. 'Maybe I will even be able to forget there. The malice in Barad-Dûr has taken away my strength, and since the Three Rings are fading, I am fading either. I cannot regain my power, it has been lost in Sauron's breath.'

The wizard straightened himself, the image of a broken old man dwindling. Having made his decision, although it truly had not been one, he felt better, was at peace with himself. Men could not continue rely on the immortal, the times had changed and the departing should not linger further in the east. Their ages had passed, and they did not belong to Middle-earth anymore. A shadow of a smile crossed the Istari's face. There would be summer in Valinor.

Turning his head, he caught sight of Legolas' blond hair swaying in the breeze. A slightly troubled expression lay on the Elf's fair features, yet he had decided to remain in Middle-earth. He did not need Círdan to pass over the Sea when his time would finally have come, he would build himself a ship and would sail down the Anduin until he reached the ocean in the far south. Gandalf slightly shook his head. Legolas was not yet ready to leave Middle-earth: A far too great place in his heart still belonged to the lands in the east to be able to forsake it. It sang with the birds in the trees, and with the trees themselves. Legolas would not be glad in Valinor, ever would his heart call him to the east.

Slowly the tall Elf lifted his right hand as he was standing next to Gimli who seemed to be lost in his own thoughts. A silent good-bye for the wizard, whom he had ever respected and loved as a friend. Calling some last words was not necessary, they understand themselves without speaking – their fear for Aragorn had made them close. Also raising his hand, Gandalf turned and went to the back of the ship, disappearing out of Legolas' sight.

'I wonder when I will see him again,' passed through the Elf's mind as he was watching the wizard. 'In Valinor time is said to run differently, and the years do not change as they do in Middle-earth. We both will not be the same when we will meet once more. I deem he will be high among the Elf-lords, whereas I will merely by one of the last ever coming to the shores of the Undying Lands, never having been there before, so very unlike to the Lady Galadriel who is greatly respected among the Eldar.'

He gazed into the far west, but even his keen eyes were not able to penetrate the mists veiling the horizon, unifying earth and water and sky, coloring everything with a watery gray as if the mist itself was water and the water itself was mist. To any other it had just looked as if storm clouds were gathering there, distant, yet near. 

'The circles of the world end there,' Legolas mused, 'the ocean bends with the earth, but the ship will sail straight on, and thus it will leave Middle-earth and its waters, its air, its smell. Somewhere behind there must be eternal summer, peace between the Valar and Ilúvatar's elder children.

Men are not gifted with this,' came into his mind, 'they die and their souls depart to places we do not know of, the tales of old never speaking of them. I cannot believe that they just disappear, they as well have to go somewhere where that which they had been in their lives remains and lives on. A being so full of compassionate feelings like Aragorn cannot just vanish with the wind, leaving no trace behind. Even a withering flower does not simply disappear, a voice that has once spoken words is not lost. I will not believe that everything that was Aragorn is lying in the Silent Houses of Minas Tirith. His soul cannot be lost, it has to remain somewhere where only those who are akin can accompany him. Ilúvatar unified our two peoples in life, and separates us after our time in Middle-earth has passed. Not an easy thing to bear for those who have become brethren in heart.'

The Elf sighed softly. Aragorn's loss was still weighing heavily on him. The night he had spent watching over the man's body together with Gandalf had brought calm to his soul as if he had been able to make up for not having been at Aragorn's side when the man had drawn his last breath, yet he was not able to forget the pain his friend had had to go through. 

'May Ilúvatar find a way to unify our two peoples, somewhere, beyond the circles of the world, there where times ceases to exist. For long have we labored in the fight against the Enemy, suffering in a battle which had seemed to have no light at the end, but while we survived to see a world without malice and darkness, your only reward was a cruel death without having anyone at your side. So many thoughts passed through my mind in that night I was watching your dead body, mesmerizing your features to create an everlasting image in my soul when you were finally gone. It was dark in the Silent Houses, only two torches standing at either side of your head cast a golden shimmer on your skin. You looked kingly, so regal. A man born to lead his people into a better future. And yet you were dead, the stillness of death had captured your limbs and they lay in eternal quietness. No breath escaped your lips, the only sound came from Gandalf's and mine. It was so loud in that darkness. And each of us felt alone with you, sharing thoughts that had not been uttered before our last parting so many days earlier. I felt close to you in that night, as if there had never been a physical barrier between our souls. Something that had had to be you seemed to float in the room, making the silence comfortable. Everything was solemn, and the pain of your torture appeared to have fallen off you, creating an image of a peacefully sleeping man. It was a good night that helped me to overcome my grief, for I learned that death could return freedom to tormented souls. I had seen dead Men before, and their faces had shown the agony of their last minutes while they had tried to get the arrow out of their chests. Death was cruel and full of anguish, I thought, and I did not lose that opinion until we had brought your body to Minas Tirith. There – as if you had sensed that you were at home at last – your features softened, losing the expression of relief that had ever reminded of your agony. Others might not even have noticed, to me it was a visible change easing the weight upon my shoulders. I was able to overcome my sorrow since I had something of you to remember that was not the picture of a battered and bruised body, but one of peace and freedom. If Ilúvatar indeed gave Men a place where to go after they have left Middle-earth, I am certain that you are now high among your sires, sitting on a golden throne next to Elendil, wisdom guiding your judgment about matters of importance. May it be so, my friend, may it be so…' 

Legolas sighed softly, his thoughts trailing off into the far west to greet the birds and the wind out there. He stirred slightly, putting his left hand on Gimli's shoulder, steadying his friend who had made a little movement against Legolas' side. A silent gesture of comfort like the Dwarf had offered frequently during the past year when Legolas had been overwhelmed with the memories of Barad-Dûr and a broken Aragorn.

Gimli shortly lifted his head to look into Legolas' eyes, but the Elf had already averted his gaze once more, and continued to stare across the Sea. A hint of a grim smile appeared on the Dwarf's face, only to vanish again after seconds. The friendship between Legolas and him had only deepened in the past year, and, although he would never have admitted it, he was glad that the Elf was not yet ready to forsake Middle-earth. He would have missed his friend greatly. 

'If someone had told me before the Council of Elrond that I once would actually think about an Elf in a friendly way, I would have slain him with my axe. And now…' Another smile on Gimli's features, softer and even more concealed.

'And now I am called Gimli Elf-friend among my people, and although they think it to be strange, they do not even object to me showing Legolas the secret ways of delving, and telling him of our own ancient lore. I, however, have also learned a lot from him and his people, may they act strangely sometimes. Never would I have believed that an Elf was actually able to mourn for fallen comrades, even less for Men, but I have seen it to be different now: Legolas has long been grieving for Aragorn, just as I have done, and even Elrond's wise eyes do still betray his sorrow for the death of his foster-son. It has been a hard year for everyone who had known Aragorn, a year in which every day told that he had still lived the year before.'

Again Gimli moved slightly, gripping the axe he always had with him, and felt Legolas' hand reassuringly tighten on his shoulder

"A hard year indeed," he murmured softly, causing the Elf to lower his gaze. Not having intended to disturb his friend's thoughts, the Dwarf shook his head apologetically.

'Minas Tirith has become splendid once more,' he thought, recalling the White City on the knee of Mount Mindolluin, 'the walls are gleaming in dazzling white, and the craft of my kin has shaped the stones in the way most beautiful to any being's eyes. And yet, the city is missing the rightful king for whom it has been waiting for so many long centuries. The Númenorean spirit has not returned, and its last blood has been spilt in the dark chambers of Barad-Dûr. The stones seem to feel it, and they mourn. Many of my kin have told me of the sorrow in the rocks, the wailing which arises when a shaping hand touches them. 'The stones have needed him as much as the people,' Dori said once, and I guess that he is right. Our lore tells that something which has seen the spirit of the Elves or that of Númenor cannot forget it again, and ever it will long for its return. For many centuries the Kings of Men dwelt in the White City. 

And now the stones feel like a huge tomb for the rightful heir of Isildur. They buried him next to his sires, far away from the North where he had roamed through in his youth. A tombstone with golden letters is everything that remains of him. 'Elessar', they wrote on it. An unfamiliar name, only adding to the others he traveled under, used as a mask, gave him a different personality. Now a king's, and yet I believe that he would have chosen 'Aragorn', or the one the Elves gave him, although it looks as if I cannot remember that one.'

"Estel", a voice suddenly seemed to say within his head. "'Estel', which is 'hope'".

Surprised Gimli lifted his head, not having noticed at all that he had been staring at the ground. "Estel", the voice repeated, yet it appeared not to be an audible word, rather a mere whisper in his mind, uttered by a thought. Absently the Dwarf felt the wind cooling his face, heard it blowing into the white sails, and only then he realized. 

The moment of departing had come. The Elvish ship would finally leave the shores of Middle-earth, taking with it the last of the High-Elves, and Gandalf the White, greatest among the Istari. At his side, Gimli heard the Hobbits sobbing, Legolas only dug his nails into the Dwarf's skin. 

'Do you regret that you are not with them?' Gimli shivered.

Water was rolling on the sandy ground, a bird cried high in the air, distant. The eastern wind was caught in the large sails, and as they flapped, Gimli finally saw the source of the whisper in his mind: Arwen.

She was standing at the very front of the ship, her silken dress streaming with the wind, gazing into the far west, unseeing. Behind her, almost hidden in the shadows, waited her father, an expression of greatest sorrow marring his Elvish face.

He looked as if he wanted to close the gap between his daughter and him with a few steps, and yet he hesitated. The distance was just a few meters, and still so much more. A year of grief and pain and anguish stood between them, a year in which Arwen had not been able to turn to her father to share her sorrow, a year in which Elrond had not been able to come near his daughter, neither to hold her nor to tell her of his own grief. He had hardly spoken to her since that dreadful night Gandalf had arrived in Rivendell with the tidings of Aragorn's cruel death. 

'Not that I needed those tidings,' Elrond thought pained. 'I had suspected it before and yet I have not told my Undómiel. I feared that it might break her, and still I knew that I would not be able to hide the truth forever. Mithrandir would have come sooner or later. My daughter, so much pain staining her soul… You have loved him for so long, your heart rejoicing when his smile was seen in Imladris after weeks and years of absence. Ever have you been waiting for him, and he ever came back, save from his last journey which should have been the one that brought you together. I feel my own fault weighing on my heart, so heavy, so dark. I forbid him to marry her, to be with her, until he was king, and he did not even object to this task I laid upon his shoulders. He was mortal, and yet had he acted like my own kin in each matter. Why did I not allow him to have her? For he was her light, and in her heart no Elven prince could compare to him. Why did I wait that she would eventually choose another, an Elf? For I must have known that she would never do so. Her heart belonged to him, wholly, and it still does. No beautiful tree in Imladris, no laughter of any friend, no merry song coming from her brothers' mouths could return joy to her eyes. The softness and tenderness have vanished, an indifferent gaze has replaced them. Never has she accused me of sending him away, of burdening him with a seemingly impossible task, and yet does she blame me. I can see it when she is looking at me, even when others say that her eyes betray nothing of any feeling she might have. And also Elladan and Elrohir have gone silent, their easy smile that had returned four centuries after their mother had departed over the Sea has disappeared again, and they do only whisper when they speak to me. Why are they afraid? Do they not know that I feel as great a pain as they do? Aragorn was my son! He had been living under the roofs of Imladris as a son of my flesh and blood for eighteen years, for his whole youth! And only when he learned of Arathorn being his father, he stopped calling me so. For I know that he did it, although he hardly ever addressed me with any other name than 'Lord'. How often would I have liked to shed tears about my son's fate? Many nights did I spend in his room, sitting on his abandoned bed, and thought about the years he had slept there, about the years that should have come: When I would have gone over the Sea, knowing that my son and my daughter shared the Crown of Gondor. If I had been able to, I would have wept when I found a cracked dagger lying next to your bed in the first night I sat in your room. 'Broken like your body,' I thought, and I deemed me lucky to have not seen you once more after your death. I had needed centuries to overcome the look in my wife's eyes after she had returned from the Orcs' hidings. Empty and soulless had she stared at me, and right now I receive the same gaze from my daughter. Do you know that I am pained as well? Or do you forget it in the haze of your tears? Alas, I do not blame you. Your loss is greater as mine, as your love for him is deeper. You would have forsaken your immortality just to be with him for a short mortal life, and even with him having a long life-span just as his ancestors, he might have been slain after a twinkle of time in your Elvish eyes. Would have a life of two hundred and more years been more than a twinkle of time? I do not know, and on one side I am glad that you did not have to find out. Alas, my son, from the moment your mother brought you to Imladris I knew that you would have to die once, that I would lose you – after a short time in my eyes, even if you had outlived all of your race. But never did I imagine that I would feel as great a pain as I do now. Ever have I lived with the thought of your death, and now, after you have finally departed, I wish that I would not have to bear the sorrow it has caused. And, alas, I would never wish any father to watch his child suffering as mine does right now, and has done so for the whole year. My beloved Arwen…'

The noble Elf sighed audibly, never noticing that his eyes bore an expression of such sadness as they had never done before – not even after Celebrian had left Middle-Earth. 

"Arwen," he murmured softly, not knowing how to express his feelings differently. And yet, his daughter remained unapproachable. Elrond's eyes were transfixed on her as she was standing on the railing of the ship, looking out into the far, far west. Her silken dress, her hair – so dark – was streaming with the cold wind, creating an aura of distance. She did not want anyone to invade this, her only wish was to be left alone with her grief. A lost figure, which could not shed the tears she terribly wanted to cry. 

Only her brothers had managed to slightly lift her spirits in the departing year, but now they remained on the shores of Middle-earth – they had chosen to live their life together with the Dúnedain, forsaking the immortality waiting for them in Valinor. And Arwen went over the Sea together with her father, but only since she had not been able to stand the sight of the beauty in Imladris, the green valleys, the secret paths she had treaded with Aragorn. Maybe Valinor would bring her heart freedom and peace, for it was said that nothing evil had stained the Undying Lands since the day Fëanor had slain a great part of the Teleri dwelling in Alqualonde.

"Arwen," Elrond murmured once more, the distance between him and his daughter suddenly crushing his heart, and yet, she did not move. Did not even show that she had heard her father's quiet plea for returning to him.

And then, he turned, leaving her alone in her grief, as he had done frequently since the fateful January morning Gandalf had come back to Imladris.

Arwen, however, despite her seemingly impassiveness, had noticed her father waiting in the shadow of the great sail, had heard him whispering her name with desperation in his voice. And yet, she could not close the distance between them. Too many things had happened in the last year, and although she did not consciously blame her father – loving him too much to hurt him on her free will, she did not want to be comforted by him. There was no one who could give her the comfort she needed so anxiously. For months Arwen had only said the most necessary things, shutting herself from her family. Aragorn's death had destroyed something in her heart that could not have been brought back until now. It seemed, as if the most important parts of her feelings were just gone: Joy and laughter, the simple feeling of loving and being loved. Nothing of these had remained, and a terrible emptiness had replaced them. It was as if her heart had gone numb, choosing to cease to feel. In the first days after Gandalf had gently tried to tell her of her betrothed's fate, she had just refused to accept, and those days had been the only ones in which she had been able to feel at all. There had been confusion and rejection, yet already blurred by a subconscious knowing, followed by sorrow and grief. Later, there had only been memories, and those had hurt most. These glad hours were gone and would never return. 

'The stars flowered in the sky, the leaves of the Mellyrn reflecting their warm light, when we plighted our troths in Lothlórien,' she recalled, the reminiscing of that moment re-awakening the pain in her heart. 

'Never will I see his gentle smile again, never again will I look into his gray eyes and forget the surroundings. Alas, Estel, where did you go? Why can I not be with you? For almost seventy years I have accompanied you in my thoughts, and now we are separated beyond the end of the world. The old tales do not speak of reunifying our people after yours has died and mine has departed over the Sea. They do not speak of bringing together what belongs to each other, and so I remain behind, lost and forgotten. I cling to the memories, although they hurt, but they are the only way to stay alive. Otherwise, without remembering you in each waking and sleeping moment, my soul would have died, and a dead body would be treading the valleys of my home. 

But now I will take your picture and my memories to the stars above, that they will live there until the world is shattered and a new one will be born without the evil traces of the elder. Only then the eternal remnants of Middle-earth will forget the things they suffered in their lives, and gladness will return to their hearts. Yet I understand that this time will only come when even the youngest of the Elves living right now will have become old, and their never-graying hair will have turned to white. For now, however, I have only memories. Memories of moments which seem unimportant in the long lives of my people, yet I have treasured them as if I knew that I should never forget them. 

I can see the sparkle in your eyes after you spotted me standing on a white balcony, watching the forests, waiting for you to return from a journey, long and perilous. It spoke of love, mingled with soft laughter, a promise to wait for me forever lying underneath. Alas, Estel, I do miss you so much, for you were the light in my life, my star in the black night of the Unnamed's shadow. 

Ever since we had met in the gardens of Imladris, I have been waiting for you, and the years of your absence seemed to hardly pass. I, who have lived an entire age, felt each summer lasting centuries, and when you finally graced the green meadows with your return, time began to fly as fast as Shadowfax runs over the barren plains of Rohan. Your hands have always felt so warm on my skin, your mere touch comforting me, relieving me of any sorrow I might have had. 

And yet, I did not know real sorrow in those times, I only thought I did. I grieved for each fallen of my father's people during the fight against the Shadow, I beckoned those who wanted to depart to stay, not wanting to lose them. And now you are lost to me, and there remains no one who could take away my pain. Father feels helpless, does not know how to approach me without saying your name. My brothers are hunting with the Dúnedain, trying to slay the last of the surviving Orcs, and they decided to stay behind, making me lose two others of those whom I love. 

Sometimes I want to be gifted with being able to cry like the humans, it must be relieving to let the tears flow, wash away the anguishing pain in one's heart. All Elves in Imladris have ceased speaking of you, my Estel. As if you had never been there. And yet have you been their Lord's foster son, having been raised like one of our own people. No one has spoken a word of you, not even your name, in my presence for the whole year. Not even my father. Only casual things were said, as if I was interested in the beautiful red of the flowers in this spring. Everything that had once been so important to me has lost its meaning, and the loveliness of Imladris does not exist anymore – as if it had only been there with your smile awakening it to life. 

I do not want to forget you, my Estel, my light. There are times I merely want to scream your name, just to remember the others that you had been there. Maybe they would then realize that nothing can make me lose you, especially not speaking of you. I know that it is said that in Valinor we will forget the pain we suffered in Middle-earth , but does that mean that my memories of you will be wiped out, either? For only the seventy years you lived are filled with pleasant moments, the past summer, however, overshadows my heart. Every time I remember the early sun caressing your face with golden light, your breath stirring the Mellyrn blooms in Lothlórien, I am reminded of your fate and our agony. For I know that your soul and your body suffered, although no one has told me how you really died. Mithrandir merely mentioned that you had been captured by the Orcs and, having been brought to Barad-Dûr, that Legolas and he had found you there. I must admit that I am glad that I was not told anymore, for the pictures in my mind are cruel enough. Blood trickles from the corner of your mouth. Legolas has not been able to speak of the journey through Mordor, but in his eyes I perceived a shadow of the things he saw. A dark shadow. And yet, I would feel better if I had had the chance to kiss your cold lips, to touch your cold skin. But the burial in Minas Tirith refused me this possibility, and I have not even seen your tombstone. I will never see it. What did they write on it? 'Brave and strong in our fight'? 'Uncrowned king of Gondor'? But however honoring those inscriptions are, they could not catch your spirit. You have been so much more than a brave soldier, a crownless king. 

Do you know that we have kissed each other only once? I do so. It was a mere brushing of our lips, on the Hill of Cerin Amroth, on a glad Midsummer evening. We both had been looking into the far west, to the Twilight, I stood at your right, your arm having wound around my waist, and we both had spoken our vows. Sadness and joy were rebelling in my heart, I had forsaken immortality and chosen to become your wife. Everything else, however, was so clear in that moment. I felt undying _elanor_ and _niphredil_ under my feet, your fingers gently lying on my side, and I smelt your scent, so fresh and unique. And in this moment I knew that I had made the right decision: I belonged to you, and you belonged to me. Raising my head to look at you, I saw that you had been watching me, a soft smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. Slowly your lips touched mine, your eyes bearing a questioning expression in them. But a slight nod relieved you of your worry, and they fluttered close, a token of utter trust and blissful joy. We did never kiss again. Somehow we felt that it was necessary to wait until we would finally be bonded in marriage. Yet could we not know that this moment would never come. 

Estel, you have gone, and I will go now. The shores and lands of Middle-earth will never again perceive any of us treading their paths, watching the skies with the uncountable stars gracing them. The realms of our people will be forgotten, and only legend will tell of the Firstborn roaming through the woods. I do not mind it. My heart has gone numb, and I wonder why I have not died of grief. Could there be greater in any Elven soul? But not even death would relieve my of my sorrow, for I would walk in Mandos' halls, and there death is like life. So I will go to Valinor where my mother is waiting for her husband and her children. But only my father is coming back, for Elladan and Elrohir have remained east of the Sea, and my heart has stayed there, either. Only there Estel was with me, only there we saw the same sun, and marveled at the same stars. Now, however, their light has turned cold and hurting, but I want to feel warmth again. Valinor might bring it, so my body is going over the Sea with leaving my soul behind. I do not know what is expecting me in the Undying Lands – the High Lady has not revealed her secrets – but maybe, my Estel, my beloved, we might meet again, there, where only the stars live and the world has come to its end. There my only hope lies, and to see the day we will be reunified I will live for. Where only the stars live and the world has come to its end…'

A lost figure, standing on the railing of a white ship, went into the West. And never again was such beauty and sadness seen in Middle-earth, east of the Sea where the new age had begun. White birds were circling above her head, cold water splashed on her hands – feeling like bitter rain, and yet she stood unmoving, her eyes trying to veil the mists shielding Valinor. And there she stood until the ones who had remained on the shore could not see her anymore, the white sails disappearing on the horizon, where the ocean met the sky, leaving the circles of the world. 

Arwen Undómiel, the Evenstar, had ceased to shine, her light lying beside a cold body in the city of Minas Tirith. And there it lay until the world was shattered, and a new one was born from the ashes of the old.

_When the cold of winter comes_

_Starless night will cover day_

_In the veiling of the sun_

_We will walk in bitter rain_

_But in dreams_

_I still hear your name_

_And in dreams _

_We will meet again_

_When the seas and mountains fall_

_And we come, to end of days_

_In the dark I hear a call_

_Calling me there_

_I will go there_

_And back again_

A/N: The End. Truly. *ah, I could cry – miss your reviews already*. So, I hope you all have liked it… I'd appreciate to get to know whether you'd have expected a different last chapter… sadder or less sad….. more about Arwen or Legolas or …. whoever. Oh, yes, and I'd love to get to know which chapter you liked best.

And, I learned that many readers often want to know the chapter the author herself liked best…. so, I like best this last one, for it was a challenge to write in all those different POVs and I –forgive me praising myself- have always loved the images in my mind about Arwen's departure from Middle-earth. I can only hope that I have been able to write it down that you can imagine these scenes as well as I do.

And, if you want to, you can e-mail me at any time!! I'll answer each mail, I promise.


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